


I've got so many secrets to show

by frais



Series: Shine [1]
Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Fluff and Angst, Food Issues, Friends With Benefits, Height Differences, Height Kink, Loneliness, Long-Distance Relationship, Long-Term Relationship(s), Loss of Virginity, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Peterick, Public Blow Jobs, Rimming, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 23:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4368170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frais/pseuds/frais
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick doesn't even remember how they met. Probably years ago when he was underaged and smuggled into some party of Pete's. Patrick just remembers him being that dude from Midtown and Pete's weird friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've got so many secrets to show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [euphrasie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphrasie/gifts).



> I don't know why 33k of Stumporta seemed like a good idea, but it did. I fudged the timeline a bit so let's call that artistic license before I fade back into the land of au's again.  
> For euphrasie because they had to sit there in person and listen to me drunkenly blather on about this for too long.

Patrick doesn't even remember how they met. Probably years ago when he was underaged and smuggled into some party of Pete's. That's how it usually went. If he asks Gabe, he'll make up some shitty lie about a backstage blowjob that never happened. Patrick just remembers him being that dude from Midtown and Pete's weird friend. They were just friends, kinda. Patrick dressed up as a bunny and Gabe toured with them, it wasn't anything more than a mild friendship.

Plus, the thing is, he always thought he had pretty good taste. It went bad with Anna, but she was pretty and she was into him for a while, enough so that Patrick _actually_ noticed. He didn't even realize he liked Gabe all that much, chalked it up to tour life fucking with his brains. Patrick's not sure what else to think of it. Though the blow jobs are worth it, they've not done much else.

Gabe _likes_ him. It's suspicious to Patrick because it doesn't seem right. Gabe flirts with Pete and has a monumental history of posing in weirdly inappropriate photos with dudes he doesn't even know that well. It's just... Gabe is a player and Patrick knows this, is almost waiting on a fuck up and doesn't want to get caught up with messy hurt feelings again. The tour feels incestuous as it is; their bands too interlinked, and Patrick's seen the horrors of Pete dicking around with other bands. It's never pretty.

“I wanna shout it from the goddamn rooftops,” Gabe says loudly, when Patrick brings up the idea of no one _ever_ knowing. Patrick's starting to realize he doesn't have an inside voice, just loudness all the time. It's not even an attention thing. At least Pete has an off button where he won't talk for days at a time. It's not exactly healthy, but it's quiet.

“If you tell anyone,” Patrick starts his warning loud and clear, eyes fixed on Gabe and not on the hands sliding beneath his shirt, “if anyone finds out this is over.”

“Especially Pete?” Gabe's eyes sparkle, his mouth quirked. Patrick lifts onto the tip of his toes, kisses his lips and fights back his own laughter. Patrick doesn't even know where they are, tucked away backstage in a forgotten city. He sort of wants to kiss Gabe forever and never get found out.

“Pete can't find out. He gets too invested otherwise, and it'll be weird,” Patrick says when he falls down again.

“Did you know about Mikey? Did you know about William? How come he can tell you about his hook ups and not the other way.” Gabe is slithering, crawling over Patrick's lap once he's pushed him down onto a filthy couch. It's not sexy, but Patrick moans all the same, rolls his head back and lets Gabe hold his jaw, lets teeth graze his skin before he backs away. Patrick doesn't want bruises, doesn't want Pete poking at them and demanding answers.

“You don't know anything,” Patrick sighs, shifting his legs up so Gabe's between them. “Pete doesn't talk to me about his relationships, I just know. I don't get it so don't ask, but he never fucked around with Mikey. You know how it works, right? If you say nothing people like it more.”

Gabe nods, because he gets it. Patrick knows he's fooled around with William, but not Travie, but it's the same. The fans like it when they touch like they've fucked. “Don't you fucking dare use you and Pete as an example, though.”

“No, that's different,” Patrick agrees. “Mikey and Pete were close, but it wasn't sex. Pete never fucks the people you think he's fucking. He's slept with some guys that I don't feel comfortable telling you about because he's my friend, but whenever you _think_ he's fucking someone, he usually isn't.”

“Ooookay,” Gabe stares at Patrick like maybe there's something gruesome on the end of his nose. Patrick scratches it just to be sure, before feeling large hands sliding back up his shirt again. The conversation stops at that, because Gabe's tongue works its way into Patrick's mouth and his hand settles over his bulge and it's enough to forget.

Vicky sidles over to him three days later. She's smirking like she knows everything and Patrick's smile turns to death. “Don't sweat it, Patty. Your secret's safe with me.” Vicky is cool and sweet so Patrick's fairly sure he can depend on her, but he really wishes his little secret would remain that way. Gossip is wildfire in the bush when it comes to touring.

“It's just casual fun.” Patrick bats a hand, frowning when his stomach starts to clench at the sight of Gabe chasing Nate around the green room. When Gabe looks over, blowing a kiss, Patrick turns in the other direction. “I don't like him anymore.”

“Gabe says this is one of those 'Pete can't know' things, why's that? He doesn't own you, Stump,” Vicky tells him instead, ignoring Patrick's comment. Patrick leans into her side, looking up at her over his glasses.

“I know he doesn't own me,” Patrick insists, trying to put conviction behind his words. They've never been like _that_ , but Pete's a possessive bitch and it's like he pissed on and marked Patrick the moment he clocked eyes on him. “But don't tell him. Just like you're _not_ telling anyone else.”

“I won't tell anyone,” she says, zipping her lip, before leaning in closer. “But like, how does it even work, the whole height thing?” she makes a vulgar hand signal at Patrick before shrugging. Patrick lifts his head from her shoulder, shaking his head.

“We're working on it,” Patrick admits, smirking when she snorts, long arm winding over his shoulder and knocking the hat from his head.

 

“It's just I've heard you're kinda slutty. I mean, I've seen it,” Patrick says into Gabe's chest at some party a few days later. Patrick's not drunk but everyone else is, Ryland’s swinging his shirt above his head and Pete's weaseling his way into the phonebook of someone he isn't dating. Patrick focuses on Gabe, on where they stand hunched in the corner. “I've seen it with my eyes.”

“Everyone on this tour is super slutty,” Gabe says back. He's got one long arm wrapped over Patrick's shoulders, and really, it is very nice. “But like, when I'm with you I don't want anyone else. You know?”

“Yeah, but--” Patrick looks up now, biting his lip and trying to put it in the least pathetic way possible. “Like, beneath the hoodies and the neon and the weirdness, you're a handsome dude, Gabe. It's pretty obvious.”

“Don't go there.” Gabe's lips turn down into a pinched frown. This is possibly the most sober he's been all tour, and it's making Patrick's heart and breathing skip out on him. He's still wasted, but not to the usual levels.

“I'm not putting myself down when it's true! Like, I know I'm not super ugly, but I'm still not at your level, and it feels a bit like... I dunno.” Patrick shrugs his shoulder. He doesn't want to say he feels like he's punching above his weight, but it is true. “I don't wanna say it because it sounds lame out loud.”

“That's 'cause it is lame, fucker.” Gabe's arm tightens over his shoulder and he drops a wet kiss to Patrick's sideburned cheek. Patrick isn't bothered by the affection, it's nothing compared to what else is going on in the room. “I like you like this and I'd probably like you looking however the fuck you want because you're Patrick fucking Stump, yeah?”

Patrick purses his lips, ignoring that shitty stupid feeling of an ocean inside of him. He should _not_ be feeling this way for Gabe Saporta. “Yeah, alright.” Patrick pushes his glasses up his nose, letting Gabe pull at his jaw until they're kissing.

Patrick pulls away when he remembers they're in a crowded room of all their friends. He drops down onto his feet, wiping his mouth. When he finally glances around the room, it's only Andy staring at them curiously. The corners of his mouth are turned upwards and he gives a small wave before turning away.

 

Pete finds out eventually, right near the end of tour. They've gotten lazy at hiding it, or maybe Patrick's high on Saporta love or some shit. He stops caring when Gabe wants to make out in awkward places because the thought of that outweighs the fear of being caught. Andy gave Patrick a concerned talk about how he's here if Patrick ever wants to speak about anything. Patrick made a joke about drum transitions before shuffling away.

“I cannot fucking believe this!” Pete says when he walks in on Patrick sitting on a counter-top backstage. The room was marked as no entry, which is why Patrick hadn't expected anyone to catch them. “Patrick, what are you doing?”

“Uh,” Patrick pauses, because Gabe is between his legs, hands on Patrick's thighs and mouth against his neck. It's pretty obvious. “You know.”

“No. I _don't_ know.” Pete bites his lip, and so Patrick gently pushes Gabe away from him. Patrick feels flustered and overheated. He doesn't like getting caught in the middle of things, like, ever. “Patrick, why didn't you tell me?” Pete's hurt sounds genuine, enough that even Gabe doesn't laugh about it.

“Let's take a walk,” Patrick says, hopping down from the counter and refusing to look Gabe in the eye as he drags Pete by the arm. Patrick walks Pete silently until they're huddled near a back door. Pete's lips are pinched sour, stewing in his anger.

When he can't cope with the silence any longer, Patrick breaks it. “I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry, not for any other reason you're thinking.”

“You shouldn't be with him,” Pete cuts in and Patrick rolls his eyes, bracing himself for it. “For one, you're like the shittiest guy in the world at communication, two; he's always got his dick in a billion other pies. And like, you're just _not_ his type, Patrick. He likes skinny tall dudes, right? Like Bill, like every other guy I know he's boned.”

“Clearly he's broadened his horizons a little,” Patrick says. He swallows the heat in his chest. Pete knows how to press on Patrick's insecurities and Patrick hates him for it, tries to stop himself taking the bait. He breathes a few times, counts to ten and keeps his fists from landing in Pete's face. “Yeah, I'm bad at communicating things, but I'll get better and he's not so bad. I don't think he will be, not with me.” Patrick crosses his arms over his chest, looking flatly at Pete.

“Calm your ego, Rick,” Pete snorts. He looks mad; a little jealous. Patrick doesn't get it, Pete's not into him like _that_ , not in the ways people think.

“It's really not,” Patrick says, not needing to say how pathetic his self-esteem gets sometimes. “I guess I trust him, I don't know. It's new, but it's been going on a while. I didn't want to say anything in case it got fucked up. So far it's been good, but please leave it alone. Don't involve yourself in this.”

“You love him?” Pete asks, sounding like he's really trying to restrain himself. He never does around Patrick. It's weird. Patrick wants to grab his shoulders and shake him until he starts to emote in ways he understands.

“Dunno. Too early to say.” Patrick squints up at the sun, not stopping until Pete slaps at his shoulder. Patrick squints at him, seeing nothing but blue blurs as he blinks away the blindness. “Why do you always ask questions like that? Christ, I don't know! I'm only twenty-two. Can't I just be with someone for fun?”

“Not when it's Gabe, no. Your mom would hate him.” Pete's fingers dig tight to Patrick's shoulder, like he's searching past muscle to the bone beneath. Patrick tries to shrug him off, but Pete's grip is harsh.

“No she wouldn't. She only ever hated you when she thought we were screwing.” Patrick grimaces when Pete digs tighter, and he shoves roughly at his scrawny chest to get him off. “Please, you're hurting me, asshole.”

“Sorry.” Pete rubs his chest, tucking his hands beneath his arms when he's finished. He doesn't look Patrick in the eye, not once. “I dunno if I'm happy about this, Rick. But you can continue.”

“Jeez, like I wasn't going to without your permission.” Patrick knows a Wentz sulk when it's approaching, so he laughs, trying to keep the atmosphere up. “Look, it wasn't like I didn't want you to know, I just. I guess I was freaking out?”

“It's gonna take some time for me,” Pete says, shoulders hunching in like this is Bad News. Patrick pays no interest to Pete's relationships; the highs and the lows, sweeping in only when he's left to pick the pieces up again. He wishes Pete would do the same for him. “Just give me time to think on it.”

Patrick's on his knees later that night, trying to give Gabe a really fucking rad blowjob behind the Cobra trailer. He's never been one for finesse, his lips and chin dripping with saliva as he mouths at the head. Usually this isn't an issue for Gabe, who tends to be well behaved if he's having his dick sucked, but he's more distracted by their interruption earlier.

“So he wasn't pissed at all?” Gabe tucks his fingers into Patrick's hair and yanks him off suddenly. Patrick's hat falls, landing on top of his glasses on the ground, and Patrick quickly snaps it back over his hair. He wipes at his chin, looking down at Gabe's wet cock and then at his face. Unsure why they have to talk about this _now_.

“Thinks you're going to cheat on me, maybe. I dunno. It's Pete, he's the king of hurt feelings,” Patrick shrugs and then dips his head down, taking Gabe back into his mouth. He doesn't want to talk about Pete now, not at a time like this.

Gabe goes for it and Patrick shuts his eyes to the feeling. It's not like Patrick's sucked a ton of dicks in the past, but this is definitely the biggest he's had in his mouth. He's not complaining, but it takes more work; leaves Patrick a little achy. His jaw twinges now, with Gabe's thumb pressing against his throat, and he moans at the feeling of Gabe's cock sliding in and out of his mouth. Patrick wants to pull off to breathe, fingers digging right into Gabe's bony hips, but he's being held tight, a clawed hand twisted into in his hair, just beneath his hat. Gabe only loosens his grip when Patrick's swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth.

“Nicely done, Patrick,” Gabe says, pulling in haggard breaths as Patrick dusts his knees off and slides his glasses onto his face. His jaw aches as he tests it, but he hasn't choked yet, not at all. “Give me a few minutes and I'll be on my knees.”

“Okay.” Blow jobs are pretty much as far as they've got, Patrick sort of wants to wait to fuck until they're off tour and Gabe's respectful of that. Patrick rubs his heel to his jeans, and then looks at Gabe in thought, he does have a good mouth and Patrick loves it, loves it wrapped around his dick but – “Can we just kiss or something? Like, in a bunk or somewhere private?”

“But you're hard, like, I can see your dick.” Gabe taps it, and laughs in confusion. “Why kiss when I can suck you off?”

“I don't know!” Patrick flusters, can feel his tongue getting thick in his mouth and his brain seizing up because he's probably pushing things now. “I just don't want to do it out here, I'm not like you, okay?”

“You were on your knees for me only a minute ago. Okay, Patrick, I don't get it. What's the deal?” Gabe yanks his belt up, and then rests one hand on the bus, leaning into Patrick's face.

“I like it more when we're in bed, like, um. Not quickies behind buses, I don't know...” Patrick rests a hand against his hat, tapping on it nervously when Gabe starts laughing. This is new to Patrick, this whole scenario. He doesn't even know what he's asking for, even if Gabe's figured it out.

“Why didn't you just say something, asshole? Come with me.” They don't work well in bunks together, there's too much of Gabe and he has to curl around Patrick awkwardly until he's underneath him. Patrick fists a hand in Gabe's shirt, thighs tucked over one of Gabe's knees, his entire body curled to the top part of Gabe's. It's musky and overheated, but Gabe feels good beneath Patrick's hands, and it's even better when his hand pushes down the front of Patrick's jeans, fingers pressing to his dick.

“One day we're gonna get off tour, and I'm gonna fuck you just the way you want it. Fingers, tongue, cock. Whatever you want, alright?” Gabe says, between shared breaths. Patrick's grinding his hips against Gabe's hand, riding his dick between rough fingers. Patrick wants it so bad, wants Gabe's hands around his throat, wants to be bent over and fucked because he can never quite get it the way he wants on tour. He's never even been fucked like that before; never done it with a man, but he wants it like that one day. Wants Gabe to do him that way.

“Please,” Patrick chokes out, pushing his tongue into Gabe's mouth, his fingers digging into ribs. He wishes they weren't in clothes, wishes they were naked in Patrick's bed at home. “Please,” Patrick gasps again, face into Gabe's neck as he comes in his pants.

He stays like that for too long, sticky in his pants, but curled up on top of Gabe. There's a hand stroking back and forth over the small of Patrick's back, and he's always loved that. He feels boneless and sleepy. He doesn't ever want to move.

 

“How do you guys, like, have sex?” Pete asks when Patrick's tangled up in garageband a few days later. He's going through some of the files Ryland's sent him, trying to get enough of his own thoughts down before they hit the studio. Pete's moping for some reason, whining against Patrick's side. Patrick doesn't ask because he doesn't want to know. He's not good with sensitivity when it comes to Pete's love life. He leaves that shit for someone else.

“What?” Patrick asks, hearing perfectly well, but pretending not when Pete tugs the earbud from his ear. “Don't ask me shit like that. It's private.”

“I'm just thinking. Like, there's like an actual foot between you guys, must be kinda awkward.” Pete starts laughing, bitter maybe, because for once Patrick's getting regular orgasms and he's left with his own hand. Ashlee had been here a few weeks ago, but she left on bad terms. Patrick shuts his mouth to it all. It’s Pete’s life.

“We haven't really done much of the heavy stuff yet,” Patrick admits with a heavy sigh. He figures if he gives him a little, maybe he'll go away. “We tried missionary, but it was awkward, couldn't kiss unless he bent down and I lifted up. So I told him I didn't want to do it until we got off tour.”

“That's cute,” Pete laughs. He rubs a hand over Patrick's bare arm, wiping the clamminess away until Patrick pushes at him. “You should try reverse cowgirl when you do.”

Patrick blanches. “What? No, I'm not taking sex advice from you.”

“Why not? If he's fucking you missionary, shove some pillows under your ass, more than normal, and it should make you more level.” Pete laughs harder when he sees Patrick staring at him, face turning redder and redder. He doesn't tease further, knowing Patrick's quick fuse.

“It's never been an issue before. Like, I've been taller or the same height as all the girls I've been with.” Patrick shuts his laptop. “I can't believe I'm talking to you about this.”

“Why?” Pete's laugh is genuine, even more so when Patrick groans, flopping onto his shoulder. He runs a hand through Patrick's hair, the strands too long at the back. “It's alright, buddy. You'll figure it out.”

“Thanks, I guess. Reverse cowgirl and pillows.” Patrick scrunches his nose up, trying not to think too hard. Patrick doesn't want to be a cowgirl, doesn't want Gabe to tease him if Patrick asks him for it that way.

“Wall sex, too,” Pete adds, but _no_. Patrick couldn't bear it if Gabe went and fucking dropped him. “Doggy style would need serious reworking. You should try it and let me know how it goes.”

“Oh yeah, because that's fucking likely.” Patrick's just stopped caring at this point, sinking into the dirty shoulder of his best friend. They're deep into tour now, and Patrick's seen him wear this shirt at least six times already. He can feel the slime against his cheek. “How do you know this shit?”

“Well, you know,” Pete says. Pete knows a lot of things, Patrick really doesn't want the answers.

 

Patrick's so glad when tour finally ends. Too many kids and too many shows, and all that time with his bandmates gets to him after a while. He loves his dudes, but sometimes it's just too much. Pete's love life is getting too much, too many rumors that Pete does nothing to help. It gets them more publicity, but Patrick just cringes through some of the shit they're asked, some of the promo they have to do.

He goes home and ignores everyone for three days. He's not a hermit, but he needs to sink back into some quiet, needs to get used to his own mind again and what exactly he's doing with Gabe. 

Patrick gets stupidly shy and awkward, though, because not a week later he's asked Gabe to come over and maybe now they're going to do all the things they couldn't do on tour. Patrick thinks they're a little less than serious, but maybe more than just casual. He doesn't get it, so he just combs his hair and puts on a hat that Pete's said isn't the worst he owns. Gabe won't care; has no right to complain considering his own style, but he wants to look fairly decent.

Gabe shows up and Patrick's stupid little feelings flicker around his chest and he ends up pulling Gabe down, lifting up onto his tip toes and kissing the fuck out of him on his doorstep. It's better than whatever crappy pick up line he'd end up fluffing.

“Nicely done, Stump,” Gabe smirks. “Now let me in.” Patrick steps back, eyes on Gabe as he slides into the house. He catches Patrick by the wrist, linking their fingers together and it feels good. It makes Patrick's toes curl briefly in his ugly sneakers.

Gabe's never been to Patrick's house, not many people have. Patrick isn't all that sociable with musicians on his own time. He has a small collection of friends he's made in LA, and he likes to stick with them instead. He texts Pete every day, but it's different, Patrick's different. Pete fakes it on the outside until he can live with it, but Patrick would rather hide between tours and pretend he didn't just play to thousands of kids every night.

“You could get a hot tub out here,” Gabe says when Patrick's thrown open his kitchen doors to the yard. Patrick never goes outside, so there's nothing but an old garden bench that his mom bought him when he moved in. There's no grass, no flowerbeds; nothing for Patrick to forget about and kill.

“Not really my thing,” Patrick tells him, trying to lead him back into the house. Gabe doesn't go willingly, still looking around.

“They're totally my thing,” Gabe says back, finally walking away. He's smiling down at Patrick, tall and handsome and Patrick has to look away when he feels how quick his heart is beating.

Patrick guesses it's pretty cheesy to have music playing whilst you get it on, but it's better than having nothing. Patrick prefers it, prefers music over anything, and when it's combined with sex, it's better for him.

Gabe's laughing at Patrick, singing along to the low hum of the music as Patrick kisses down his chest. Patrick mouths at the light dusting of hair over his abs, breathing in the scent of faded shower gel and musk.

“You don't have to be like that,” Patrick says, lifting up to wriggle-slide up Gabe's body. He straddles above his waist, so that he can kiss his lips and press his tongue inside Gabe's mouth. Gabe moans, hands cupping at Patrick's jaw, thumbs pressing into his cheeks. “You don't have to keep playing the funny guy, or whatever.”

“I'm just a funny guy,” Gabe says, tilting Patrick's head back with a large hand in his hair. He sucks at Patrick's throat, teeth grazing over skin. Patrick moans, Adam's apple vibrating against Gabe's tongue.

“I know that, but just – be yourself around me, you don't have to pretend.” Patrick asserts himself again, when Gabe's mouth leaves his neck. Patrick can see his own hair framing his eyeline, but the rest of it is all Gabe. “I'm gonna put my mouth on your dick, and you're gonna come between my lips, okay? We haven't got to tour so give it to me hard, make me taste you.”

“Dirty mouth for such a sweet boy,” Gabe says, but he's pushing at Patrick's shoulders, trying to get him to roll back down his body. Patrick goes slow, letting Gabe feel his body weight, his hand pressing hard to Gabe's dick through his jeans. “You gonna let me fuck you at some point?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, he wants it. It's just – without the excuse of being on tour and they did attempt it once – Patrick hasn't ever done _that_. He pushes his insecurities away, because he's pretty good at ignoring things, but he doesn't want to be terrible at it. “I wanna blow you now, though.”

“Can I pull your hair?” Gabe doesn't sound disappointed and lets Patrick strip him of his jeans and boxers. Patrick's still dressed, his dick contained for the time being. He keeps eyeing up Gabe. Everything about him is large; hands, dick, the length of his limbs. Patrick swallows the saliva in his mouth, looking up at Gabe when he's processed the question. “I know you're sensitive about your...wearing a hat and stuff. Don't wanna make you feel bad.”

“Oh.” Patrick's already lost his hat, somewhere on his stairs he thinks. “Sure. Thanks for asking, I guess.” Patrick thinks this is so weird, they weren't this polite and considerate on tour. “You can pull my hair.”

Patrick stops his weird freak out before it develops into something else and just falls into Gabe's crotch. He smells good, he smells exactly like Patrick remembers and he presses open mouthed kisses to his dark hair. Patrick loves sucking dick, always has. He likes to eat pussy too, so he thinks he probably has an oral thing. It makes his own mouth wet, saliva slicking his lips as he starts to mouth along Gabe's dick. Patrick hasn't got much in the way of stubble, still can't really grow a beard, but the feel of his cheek against Gabe's cock has Gabe bucking his hips, trying to guide Patrick's head over his dick. Patrick mouths instead at his balls, sucking them into his mouth, feeling the heaviness against his lips. It makes Patrick feel filthy when he looks up beneath is lashes, staring up at Gabe from his spot between his legs.

“You're the noisiest cocksucker in the fucking world.” Gabe's voice catches, words rolling huskily off his tongue. Patrick moans again, smirking before dipping his head down to take Gabe in. Patrick sucks hard, sloppily, spit dripping down his chin. Gabe pulls his hair roughly,the strands wrapped around his fingers. It hurts, but Patrick likes it.

Patrick sucks and tongues at Gabe's cock, precome against his lips before he licks it away. Patrick moans at the sight of Gabe's thick cock, shining wet with his own spit. He sucks it down, takes Gabe in, not all the way, but engulfs him and moans like this is the best fucking thing in the world. Patrick doesn't need warning when Gabe's about to come, he can tell from the way his balls draw up against Patrick's hand, the way his cock pulses in his mouth. Patrick shuts his eyes and swallows when he feels his mouth fill, letting some of it slide down his chin for show.

Gabe immediately pulls him up for a kiss and Patrick opens his mouth, letting Gabe taste himself. Patrick's flushed and sweaty, close to coming himself, but he lets Gabe kiss him, lets him tongue fuck the taste from Patrick's mouth until they're both panting harder.

“You like sucking dick, huh?” Gabe asks, pulling Patrick from his clothes moments later. Patrick finds it a hell of a lot easier to get naked now that they're not on tour. He's not certain that he should be showing himself off, but Gabe's not bothered at how Patrick's kinda jiggly in some places. Patrick climbs naked into Gabe's lap, wrapping a hand over his cock and jerking it lightly. Gabe rests back, one lazy hand tracing up and down Patrick's thigh.

“I like the things I'm good at,” Patrick says quietly, pressing careful fingers to the space between his balls and his cock. He rubs and then shivers, feeling Gabe's hand flex on the back of his thigh.

“You know what I'm good at? Eating ass, I fucking love it.” Gabe's smirking, the fingers that had been stroking Patrick's thigh are now pushing Patrick's hand from his dick, wrapping a larger one around it. “One day I'm gonna bend you over the fucking kitchen counter, I'm gonna leave your little feet dangling off the edge and I'm gonna bury my face in your fucking ass. Lick you out until you're screaming.”

Patrick moans at the thought, shuts his eyes and imagines it. No one's ever done it to him before, but he's always wanted it. He's been to shy to ask, but if Gabe's game for it, Patrick's not going to say no.

“Tongue sliding into your tiny little hole. Open you up for papi, huh? Have you screaming my name as I spank and eat your ass.” Patrick comes before he realises what Gabe's said, hips moving back and forth and spilling out over Gabe's chest. Gabe's hand doesn't stop moving, not until Patrick shakes his head and goes to move away. He grabs a kleenex from the side of his bed and mops up Gabe's chest. Gabe's smiling at him, a shit-eating grin that's contagious.

“Gonna pretend you didn't just call yourself papi during sex,” Patrick says breathlessly, climbing into the bed. It's early, but Patrick doesn't want to do anything but cuddle. He curls up against Gabe, still trying to figure out how their bodies fit together. He likes it, actually, being that much shorter. It makes him feel smaller than he is; safer. It's not something he'd ever admit, but it's nice.

“Get used to it. I am papi.” Gabe kisses Patrick's hair, arm curling over his shoulder, tucking him in closer as Patrick sneaks a leg over one of Gabe's. It's cozy, Gabe isn't as thin as he looks, wrapped in a layer of gym-built leanness, and it's nice to lay against. “I'd be totally cool with you calling me papi out of the bedroom too, like just as a pet name.”

Patrick scrunches his nose up at the thought. “I don't do pet names, not when I don’t speak that language, and I do know what it means, asshole. You're older than me, but not that much.”

“You have my permission to use it, I want you to use it.” Gabe's fingers are gentle, tracing circles over Patrick's shoulder. Patrick keeps telling himself this should be weird, that he's cuddling in bed with Gabe Saporta and that it can't end well. They survived tour, though, and not many things do.

“I'm not using it,” Patrick insists. As he shuts his eyes he starts to think of other things. Work, and everything that could go wrong when he produces the next Cobra record. “Okay, this has to last until at least the record is complete because otherwise it could go really bad. Like, I know it's mostly been recorded, but whatever this is, it can't get in the way of you putting out a solid record.”

“Right.” Gabe plays along, sounding like he's laughing at Patrick. It's okay, Patrick knows he has a terrible tendency to worry. “Plus, who gets to keep Pete?”

“You can have him,” Patrick says without pause. He wants to stay like this forever, sort of. He doesn't even truly know Gabe properly yet, but he doesn't want it to end; wants it to last as long as Gabe wants to stay.

Gabe doesn't leave the next day. Patrick doesn't have clothes that fit him so he walks around in just his jeans, and Patrick spends most of the time distracted and staring. He likes it best when Gabe's back is to him and he can see the hard lines of his back; the bumps of his spine if he leans further forward. Patrick wants to trace them with his tongue, feel the pressure beneath his mouth.

“I can't fucking wait until later,” Gabe says, sprawled over Patrick's couch. He's sucking on an orange segment, staring at Patrick sitting in the armchair, eyes drawn away from his TV.

“What's happening later?” Patrick asks, watching Gabe bite down on the fruit and swallow, licking at the juice rolling down his wrist before smirking at Patrick.

“Don't get all coy on me, Stump. We're getting onto the good stuff at last. I know you wanted to wait, but I don't see why anymore. You gonna let me fuck you, right? I wanna hear the way you sound when you've got my dick in your ass.”

Patrick hates the fact that he actually blushes at that, as if it's the worst thing he's ever heard. He waits until the heat dies down a little before he presses his fingers to his chin and confesses in the calmest of ways.

“I'm like... I've never been with a guy before, like, all the way,” he mumbles, watches the way Gabe's eyebrows slide right up his forehead. “I'm ready to do it with you, but I don't want to be bad.”

“Oh God,” Gabe says, making possibly the _biggest_ deal about it. “How is that even fucking possible?”

“I was with a girl for four years and we didn't... she wasn't interested in trying anything like that. I'm still pretty young, Gabe. It's not a big deal, or that I was holding off for virtuous reasons.” Patrick scratches at the back of his neck, feeling too warm, embarrassed enough that he can't quite look up.

“Damn, Patrick. I didn't mean to embarrass you, but it's still a big thing. If it's not a big deal to you, then it should be and I don't wanna ruin it or anything.” Gabe's panicking, and Patrick just laughs.

“Don't get like that, seriously.” Patrick rolls his eyes and then stands up. He hovers in front of Gabe for a moment before dropping down onto his lap. He winds hands over Gabe's neck, kissing him, tasting the sharp citrus on his tongue. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Okay,” Gabe nods. “I haven't fucked a virgin since I was fifteen though, so just... try not to be disappointed.”

“Shut up.” Patrick kisses him hard, hands pulling tight to Gabe's curls.

Gabe's making way too much of a big deal about it. He's taken the news that he's going to be Patrick's first as if it's a heavy weight on his shoulders, something he's going to carry with him the rest of his life. Patrick mostly laughs at him, naked by this point, and squirming beneath Gabe's heavy hands.

“I really do prefer to top, but if you want to do that the first time I don't mind,” Gabe says. Patrick thinks about it, fucking Gabe, but it's not... not what he wants to do. He shakes his head.

“When I think about having sex with you, it's always like this. You fucking me,” Patrick admits. He bites his lip, wondering if he's given the game away; if it's bad that he only wants to bottom.

“Yeah, me too.” Gabe's smile is bright, sharp cheekbones rounding out. Patrick slides his finger to them, stroking down in soft motions as Gabe feels his body out. “What _have_ you taken? I've fingered you before, but have you done more than that?”

“ _Yes_.” Patrick gives a filthy look to that comment. He flexes his thighs, trying to ignore the buzz in his stomach when he sees the size of Gabe's large hands on his thighs. They’re so big. “Toys, you know, not as big as your dick. But I've done that.”

“It's a big dick,” Gabe preens, sitting back suddenly. Sometimes there are moments when he's so much like Pete that Patrick's a little disgusted that he's willingly naked in bed with him. “We nearly fucked once before, would you have told me at that point?”

“Probably not,” Patrick shrugs, “I don't know. It isn't a big deal to me. How are we gonna work this? Pete says missionary will work if we use pillows.” Patrick looks up at Gabe, seeing the way his eyes narrow.

“Don't talk to Wentz about our sex life, it's weird enough,” Gabe mutters. His hands squeezes harder on Patrick's thighs, sinking down into the thick flesh. Patrick writhes beneath him, naked and turned on, but not getting touched in any of the places he'd like.

“It slipped out.” Patrick shakes his head, batting his hand before wrapping it around his cock. There's been nothing sexy about the last five minutes and if Gabe isn't going to touch him properly then he'll just have to do it himself.

“I wanna face you, I wanna be gentle. Like, I feel I really fucked over a few virgins in my back history, I don't want it to be like that for you.” Gabe's hands smooth out again, palms running up and down Patrick's thighs, pressing soft kisses to Patrick's shoulder.

“You wanna use me to right your past behavior?” Patrick laughs when Gabe nods, teeth fixing down over Patrick's shoulder. “I can get behind that.”

“Or maybe I can just get behind you?” Patrick thwacks him at that, smiling when Gabe snorts. “Okay. No more joking. You wanna ride me? That'll work for us, I wanna look at you.”

“Don't fucking laugh at me.” Patrick doesn't really believe that Gabe would, but it's different, he's never sat on a dude's dick before. It might be a really bad angle for him. Patrick's not like Gabe, who looks good at every point. Still, he sits up when Gabe grabs the lube from the nightstand, uncapping the barely used tube. “I did nearly sleep with a guy once.”

“Oh yeah?” Gabe's rolling the slick over his fingers before pressing two of them inside Patrick. They've moved so quick, but Patrick doesn't mind. He wants to get it over with now and he likes this part; he knows this well. Gabe's got such long fingers and they reach places that have him arching his back. Patrick stares at Gabe, fingers clutching his own cock as he looks at him, all long and lean. He plays with his own dick lightly, keeping himself hard as he fingers Patrick.

“Yeah. When I was seventeen, before I got with Anna. He wanted Pete, that's what he said, but that I was the next best thing.” Patrick isn't all that offended by it now, though he catches how Gabe's face pinches up, his fingers thrusting out of sync. “I think that's how most people thought of me, like 'you're not Pete Wentz, but you're his best friend' and that's okay.”

“That's not okay, I hope you kicked him to the fucking curb.” Gabe drops kisses down against Patrick's stomach, the curve of his palm against Patrick's balls as his fingers sink deeper. Patrick bites down on his own wrist, writhing against the stretch.

“Nah. I was about to let him, you know, do me. But Pete was eavesdropping the entire time and when he heard what he said he flipped out.” Back then it mostly just felt like his best friend was cockblocking him. Patrick was an obnoxiously stupid teenager with terrible self-esteem, it took a while to figure Pete's motivations.

“I'm glad you waited.” Gabe's pulling his fingers out – it's weird and he's used a lot of lube. Patrick feels it trickling from between his ass cheeks, slicking the bed beneath him. “I'm glad you're letting me do this.”

“Okay.” Patrick hears the shaking of his own voice, the fact that he's actually nervous irritates him. Patrick's never been able to play anything cool, but he wouldn't mind being able to act like this isn't a big deal to him. “I don't know what to do.”

“Yeah, you do.” Gabe leans forward and kisses Patrick. It's soft and slow and Patrick leans into it, lifting up so that he can rest his arms over his shoulders. Gabe's hands fall to Patrick's ass, his dick riding low on Patrick's hip. “Put a condom on me.”

Patrick grabs the foil packet resting on the side, pulling it open without paying much attention. It's only when the artificial scent hits his nose that he wrinkles it up in disgust. “Bubblegum, really?”

“Ride my bubblegum dick,” Gabe smirks, hand on Patrick's wrist. Patrick cannot believe he's allowing a bubblegum flavored condom to have any part in his anal virginity, but he's not fighting it off. He's rolling the condom down, ignoring the pink tinge of the latex as he pours more lube over it. He can't help but feel this is all a lot of work. Patrick is naturally pretty lazy, so he hopes he actually ends up enjoying this experience.

“Don't say that again.” Patrick crawls over though, straddling Gabe's lap. He has to kiss Gabe again, over and over to soothe his nerves. He can feel hands running up his sides, can feel Gabe's dick against his skin and when he's calmed down slightly he can feel that Gabe's holding himself up, waiting on Patrick's word.

Patrick settles hands on Gabe's shoulders, shifting his ass backward. His skin is still slippery with lube and he can smell the condom's fake scent and it's all a bit too much, but he can feel the heavy blunt head against his entrance and he wants it enough that his head goes hazy; enough that he just tries to breathe through the stinging pressure until it pops through and Patrick's sinking down.

“Don't take it all if you can't,” Gabe grunts out but Patrick's working on steadying himself before he loses balances and sinks down all the way. It hurts, but in a weird way. Patrick just feels full; stretched. It's different to toys, he can feel the pulse of Gabe inside him, can feel his balls against his ass. He wants to writhe; to get away from it, but he thinks that might make it worse.

“I don't...” Patrick shifts, and feels a sudden thick slide and no. He squeezes his eyes shut and rocks back down. His cock feels heavy against his belly and he's making soft noises in the back of his throat. “I don't know what to do.”

“Wait until you're ready.” Gabe's voice is tight, like he's concentrating pretty hard. Patrick just breathes, rests his hands over Gabe's on his hips, thighs still shaking either side of the body beneath him. Patrick doesn't know if he'll ever be ready, whether he'll ever loosen up against the cock in his asshole.

Patrick moves eventually, rocking his hips back and forth. He doesn't think there's anything sexy about his chubby hips wiggling all over Gabe, but he sees Gabe's abs tighten beneath him, sees how he groans when he stares at Patrick. He must like something about it.

“You are so goddamn tight,” Gabe groans, even when Patrick feels his body open up around him. He shudders and decides it's worth it. He braces his hands on Gabe's chest, starts to lift up slowly, falling back down.

“I'm not gonna last long.” Patrick can already feel he's close, and this... he's played around with toys and fingers before and his orgasms are always more intense that way, but this is like nothing else. He can't stop moving his hips, can't stop thinking about next time when he's going to let Gabe fuck him properly, so he can feel what it's like to have a cock slide in and out his body, the grip of his slick asshole loose and fluttering. Patrick comes when he runs a thumb against the head of his cock, shooting off against Gabe's chest, long before he's really ready.

“Yeah baby. Come for me like that,” Gabe says, thankfully leaving the papi comment out this time. He's still resting dead still as Patrick loosens the tight grip around him. He's still tight when he comes, but Patrick feels all the tension leave his body as he leans forward for a kiss, his tender hole stretched as he slides off Gabe's cock. “I still need to come, baby. Can I come on your face?”

Patrick shakes his head, that's not something he'll ever want. He's sore now, can feel the achiness seeping in, but he doesn't want this to end. Wants Gabe to come inside him, wants to feel what it's like to have a dick like that. “Fuck me,” he says instead and Gabe nods.

Patrick's rolled onto his back, pulled down the bed with hands beneath his knees. The fact that Gabe can move him around so easily despite Patrick's weight makes something heated burn inside his stomach, but it doesn't matter because Gabe's sinking back inside him, this time with the control and force.

It hurts. Patrick's overly sensitive and tender, but he moans weakly anyway. He can feel how loose he is now, sweating too much because Gabe's got his hands wrapped around the headboard as he thrusts and Patrick's so small against him that he's trapped somewhere around Gabe's collarbone. He holds hands around Gabe's back, one resting low on his ass, his legs loose. Gabe's getting brutal, perhaps forgetting in his bliss that Patrick's new to this. When he stops, it's with his cock sunk right deep in Patrick's ass, his entire body shaking on top of Patrick.

The slide out is the weirdest fucking thing. Patrick feels loose and boneless and he's too scared to even touch between his legs. He feels emotional too, closer to vulnerable than anything else. It's different to his first time with a girl, but he was more focused on her; it hadn't really been about him at all.

“So now I know what it feels like to get fucked through a mattress,” Patrick says, watching the muscles in Gabe's back flex as he bends and pulls the condom off, wrapping it in a tissue. He rolls back onto the bed, snuggling into Patrick's side. “Do that to me a few more times and I think I'll really love bottoming.”

Gabe laughs. “That's perfect for me. We can switch when you want, but I don't like to do it too much. I'm a good top, but every other fucking dude I like wants to top too.”

Patrick rolls over onto his side, facing him. Everything shifts inside and Patrick's eyes bulge. “Okay. I don't know much about it but thank you.” He pulls one of Gabe's lanky arms over his back so that he can snuggle in. He wonders how sore he'll be in the morning, whether he'll regret letting Gabe fuck him that hard on his first go.

“So you and Pete never...?” Gabe asks quietly, just as Patrick's drifting off. His arms are tight around Patrick, and there's so much of him and it should be suffocating, but it isn't, not if Patrick stays completely still.

“Pete has been a mess since the day I met him. He wanted to fuck me, but only because he wants to fuck everyone once. He probably wanted to fuck you, too,” Patrick sighs, and it's weird, the fascination people have with their relationship.

“Yeah,” Gabe admits. “You got me there.” Patrick sits up, even though it feels like maybe he shouldn't. He rests a hand on Gabe's chest, thankful to see he's cleaned himself off at some point.

“I had a huge crush on Andy when I first knew him. All those tattoos, and the way he was so fucking secure about himself, like, I could never think of myself the way he thought of him. I don't know, like, that's so attractive to me, you know? It was him I liked.” Patrick laughs at his former self, staring at Gabe looking up at him. “Anyway, Pete knew this and he straight up told me to let it go because Andy would never like me that way.”

Gabe's face seizes up. “Pete's not that cruel.” He's shaking his head, refusing to believe.

“He's always been honest with me,” Patrick shrugs his shoulder. “I'm glad that he was. It stopped me from making a gigantic fool of myself. It was just a teenage crush, nothing more than that.”

“You ever think Pete liked you like a crush?”

“I don't think I'm wild or edgy enough for him,” Patrick laughs, tapping his fingers along the hard line of Gabe's stomach. He's so hot, Patrick can hardly believe he's got him in his bed. “You're more likely to know that than me. I don't talk relationships with him, it's too much so he knows not to go to me with that shit.”

“I've always stayed out of it too,” Gabe admits. His voice is starting to slur now, sleep trying to take over, and Patrick rubs his cheek along his chest, listening to the steadiness of his heartbeat. “Just pick the pieces up after.”

 

“Oh God, Pete gave me the talk today.” Gabe's marching into Patrick's living room, shuddering dramatically. He's been here around a week now, going back to his place for some clothes every so often. Patrick doesn't say anything because he likes it, but he's _noticed_. He's aware.

“What kind of talk?” Patrick asks. He's on his couch, sprawled lazily because he's still trying to recover from tour, but also because he's never much good to the world before three pm.

“Oh, the one that goes on about how if I hurt you he'll kill me.” Gabe waves a hand before falling on top of Patrick on the couch. Patrick lets out a harsh breath when Gabe pushes into his chest. “I guess that means he loves you more.”

“Oh. Well, yeah.” It goes without saying. Even Patrick knows there are few people in the world Pete would take a bullet for over Patrick. Maybe his mom. Gabe's close, but not enough. “But also he's just protective. Who of your friends is gonna give me the talk?”

Gabe snorts somewhere into Patrick's chest. “Uh, probably none. Like, it's cool, Patrick. You're a lil butterfly to them.”

“But now I feel bad Pete gave you shit.” It's awkward with Gabe on top of him, Patrick sees that his legs are slumped on the floor just so he can rest his head on Patrick's chest. This whole height difference thing is a lot weirder than he first realized. He topped Gabe the other night, but it was just a hilarious mess; Patrick felt like a pomeranian humping a giraffe. He wasn't into it at all, and Gabe didn't seem all that turned on.

“It's Wentz, Patrick. I don't care what he said. He's a pussy cat.” Gabe bites at Patrick's chest, laughing when Patrick wriggles from beneath him. “Don't sweat it, alright. I ain't gonna hurt you.”

“I know,” Patrick nods. Gabe's not really known for getting tied down in relationships and Patrick's been cheated on before. He thinks his trust issues should be a lot bigger than this. “But I really won't hurt you either, not intentionally. You just have to tell me to tell you things sometimes, I'm not good at that.”

“We'll make it work,” Gabe says, smirking like this makes him fucking happy. It makes Patrick smile all the way down into his chest, covering his red face with his hands as Gabe starts to tease him for it.

 

“Just so you know,” Patrick says, shutting his eyes and choking back a moan. They're heading to the studio tomorrow to record the new Cobra record and Patrick's trying to set some rules down. It's hard, though, when Gabe's tongue is wet and surprisingly soft against the back of his knee. “It has to be professional if I produce your album. No flirting, no acting like we're a couple.”

“We are a couple, everyone knows we're screwing,” Gabe laughs, his teeth skirting the side of Patrick's cock as he dips his head. He makes up for it with a firm lick, mouthing at the side of his dick. “You saying I should keep my hands to myself, huh?”

“If that's at all possible.” Patrick shuts his eyes when Gabe sucks him down, lifting his legs until Gabe's shoulders are tucked under his knees and his hands tight to Patrick's thighs. It's fun, finding positions that work for them. There's been some awkward moments, but it's mostly good. “Your mouth is much better at this anyway.”

Gabe pulls off for a moment, slapping Patrick's thigh roughly in a faux scold before he dives back down onto his cock. Patrick just pulls at Gabe's curls, rocking his hips up into Gabe, fucking his mouth with the small amount of leverage he has. Gabe's pulling off in no time, jacking Patrick until he comes. He's singing all day tomorrow; Patrick can't get too rough.

“We can fuck though, right?” Gabe asks when he's rolling onto his back seconds later. He's hard, and Patrick stares at his thick cock, trying to work out how he wants Gabe to come. “Share a hotel room.”

“ _Two_ hotel rooms. You've never worked with me in the studio before. You won't want to see my face when we're done,” Patrick says. He climbs on top of Gabe, pushing his shoulders down into the pillow. “One time I punched Pete and didn't even feel bad. I'm such a bitch, I can't help it.”

Gabe's laugh turns to a moan when Patrick fists his cock in his hand, jacking it tight and slow as he sits over his hips. Patrick drops his head low and spits down over his fingers, using it to slick the dick in his hand. Gabe watches him, like Patrick naked and chubby with stringy hair and a soft dick is something that turns him on. Patrick's not complaining, but it is pretty surreal. He shifts, so that he's almost riding Gabe, cock rubbing against his thigh. Gabe's hands grab at him; squeezing his sides, his ass, and then his thighs, pushing them closer together. Patrick drops down to kiss at his neck, teeth against the pulse, sucking and grinding until he feels Gabe come against the softness of his hip.

Patrick slides up slightly, so that their mouths can touch and he kisses Gabe, sweaty fingers cupping his face in his hands. Patrick sees his own gingery hair curling over his face, he should probably get it cut soon, but Gabe lifts a hand, tucking it behind Patrick's ear.

“Don't be too mean,” Gabe says. “I want this to still work after we've finished recording. I don't take shit from you like Pete does.” Patrick doesn't take too much offence, because he's still trying to learn about this, about how relationships work, but he's a little tired of Pete getting a pass with Gabe no matter what.

"I won't be mean, I just want to make it perfect. A perfect album for you. If I'm mean, I'm not actually being a dick. At least just... A dick for your own good.” Patrick rolls off from Gabe, smiling into the pillows even when Gabe slaps his ass in retort.

Patrick does try and keep his temper in check during the recording. Gabe riles him, tries to work him up to get a reaction, but Patrick shakes him off, tries to keep out of view when he sees a camera recording and just sticks to the job at hand.

“You guys are cute, he's pretty smitten,” Vicky says outside the studio. Patrick's got a hand wrapped around a half empty coke can, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest from Vicky's cigarette. There's laughter from the other side of the door, but it isn't Gabe's so Patrick feels safe talking with her.

“I think I might, you know, love him or whatever,” Patrick says nervously. He scratches the back of his neck, laughing down at his toes when Vicky stares at him. “I haven't said it yet, and he hasn't either, but like uh, I think I'm gonna tell him when we've finished here. Like maybe as a reward or is that a bad decision?”

"I'm not the one in the relationship,” she shrugs, squinting down at him. The sunshine is too bright; too harsh for Patrick, but she's his friend so he doesn't complain about being out here. “He won't be disappointed to hear you say it, I know that much. You've got him hooked like crazy.”

“I figured that.” Patrick smiles at her. “I never saw this for myself. Never saw myself falling for Gabe of all fucking people. He's a good guy, just not what I expected.”

Vicky laughs, like she's catching onto something. “Oh, you're trying to convince yourself this is for real? Why not just let things play out instead of overanalyzing it?”

“I get neurotic about shit like this,” Patrick says honestly. “No one thinks this is gonna last, but I kinda wanna prove everyone wrong.”

“That's on you two, no one else. But I'm happy for you, whatever happens.” Vicky pats his shoulder before standing up and crushing her cigarette beneath her heel.

All things considered, Patrick doesn't think he was _too much_ of a terror during the production of the record. There were days where Patrick _maybe_ got a little bullheaded over Gabe's vocals, but they usually worked it out and if Patrick was grimacing every time he sat down the next day, it was only Vicky that seemed to notice and she kept her smirks to herself.

The press party goes even better, because if Cobra are good at anything, it's throwing a huge alcohol-soaked party and making sure everyone has a good time. Pete's there and Patrick's there, and so is everyone else of Decaydance. Patrick doesn't talk to any of them, but he knows they're there.

“So, like, I love you, right?” Patrick slurs. He's sitting on the balcony of the second floor of the club, gripping onto Gabe's shoulders to keep himself from, like, falling backwards and into the street below. Patrick's usually far more concerned for his safety, but he's had way too many shots of tequila to care either way.

“Mmm, yeah. You too, chiquito.” Gabe's mouth is on him, tongue sliding wet into Patrick's. His hands are warm, holding Patrick firmly against him. He's hardly going to fall with the grip Gabe has. “Why you telling me when we're wasted though?”

“Well, I said to Vicky I was gonna wait until we finished the record, and now, like. You know, it's finished?” Patrick's laughing even though it's not funny. “Hey, have you done your speech yet? Have you gotta, like, do speeches? We do, but I don't know if that's just because, you know, _Pete_.”

“You have such a motor-mouth when you're trashed,” Gabe says, “it's cute. But you're right, I have people to entertain that ain't after my dick.” His hands slide upwards, hitching under Patrick's armpits and tugging him down onto the ground roughly. Patrick's drunk enough that his eyesight spins and he finds himself laughing into the black and neon of Gabe's chest. “You need me to find a 'sitter for your drunk ass or you wanna stick by me?”

Patrick, who is full of way too many emotions enhanced by too much booze, simply slides his hand down Gabe's arm until he can slide their clammy fingers together. “Lead the way, _papi_.”

Patrick wakes up the next morning in their hotel room with his hand curled inside Gabe's boxers. He pulls it out slowly, trying not to wake him up before last night's partying disturbs his fragile insides and he ends up rushing to the bathroom.

 

So like, the next step would be you moving in, right?” Patrick says when they're out for lunch a week later. Gabe's schedule has been pretty crazy and Patrick's is about to pick up again soon, but he figures it's best to be sober about this part. They got through _I love you_ but this seems bigger somehow.

Gabe raises an eyebrow, sliding his sunglasses down his nose, eying Patrick up. “You want me to move in with you?”

“Well, like, only if you want to.” Patrick taps his fingers nervously on the table. “Obviously if it's rushing it then, no, but like. I dunno. It seems like the right thing to do.”

“Patrick, chill out, man. I just think, like, we're way too young to think about moving in together.” Gabe pushes his glasses back up his nose, his own fingers sliding up the condensation on the pitcher of water between them both.

“You're twenty-eight,” Patrick says, surprised at quite how disappointed he is. It settles somewhere in his chest and makes his head throb slightly.

"Yeah, but an immature twenty-eight year old. I don't want to settle down in a house together. That's the last thing I want.” Gabe stops talking, and Patrick looks up to see that his eyebrows have risen over the frame of his sunglasses. “Aw fuck. I didn't mean it that way.”

“No, its cool, you're right. It was stupid.” Patrick flusters, pulling his wallet from his pocket and dumping some notes on the table. “I need to go. Like, I don't know. I'll see you later, probably.”

It's a change of course for Patrick to be the one sitting in Pete's house, trying to sort out his relationship issues. It comes with a lot less speed than when Pete's the one complaining, but he gets it out eventually. “I dunno, Pete. I think Gabe wants to see other people or something.”

“Son of a bitch!” Pete throws his knuckles onto the table, almost knocking his juice over as he frowns at Patrick. He's got days old eyeliner mixing with dark circles beneath his eyes; he looks a wreck. Patrick notices, makes a mental note to figure out what's going on with Pete later. “What the fuck, why would he do that?”

Patrick shrugs. “I dunno. I asked him to move in, but he said settling down with me is the last thing he wants.”

“Sounds like maybe you should talk to each other,” Pete says unhelpfully. “He likes you though. I don't know what he's on, saying shit like that.”

“But if he doesn't want to live with me then what's the point? I'm never home and neither is he, which makes it even more obvious that he doesn't want me. It was stupid; a stupid idea to think this would work out.” Patrick shakes his head, feeling his own irrationality sink down into his bones. He feels like an idiot for putting himself out there.

“I'm gonna punch that motherfucker,” Pete says, but he's dropping his juice to the table and pulling on Patrick's arm gently. "I've been writing a lot recently. Get your own shit layered on this goldmine. I've been raging at the pages for a while now.” Patrick's lead into one of Pete's many empty rooms, a laptop and worn notebook spilling out over a coffee table. “I'm gonna talk to him, alright? Kick his ass if I have to.” Pete kisses Patrick's cheek, sitting him down on the solo chair before leaving the room.

Patrick's had a few melodies floating around his head for a while now and he gets the bare bones recorded to Pete's laptop, tweaking the acoustic he finds in the corner until it sounds more in tune. He's half aware that Pete's lyrics seem about as bitter as Patrick's gloomy mind right now, but they're locked behind metaphor and it's not Patrick's place to take them apart either.

Hemingway shuffles into the room, his fat belly warming Patrick's feet as he falls down, huffing and snorting. Patrick bites his lip, trying to focus on working and not the worry niggling at him. They need to start focusing on a new album; _Infinity_ only came out at the beginning of the year, but they need to keep things fresh.

Eventually there's noise from the other side of the house and Patrick figures Pete must be home. Patrick's waiting on him to walk back into the room, but it's Gabe instead, sporting a purple bruise beneath his eye.

“I willingly bent down to let him get the shot in. That's how sorry I am,” Gabe says, sounding sincere in ways he doesn't normally when they fight. He sits beside Patrick, not forcing eye contact. Patrick isn't going to look at him any time soon.

“If you wanna break up that's fine. Obviously we're both busy, it's likely this won't work,” Patrick starts to say, but Gabe taps Patrick's nose and then his mouth, stopping him.

“I wasn't breaking up with you, Patrick, but come on, hear me out.” Gabe's voice is quiet, but it fills the echoing of the empty room.

“You don't want commitment, you don't want to be tied down,” Patrick says, trying to squirm away when Gabe's large hands clamp over his wrists.

“That's not it at all, homeboy.” Gabe kisses at Patrick's cheeks, but Patrick tries to pull out of his grip.

“I don't like being laughed at,” Patrick says. “You know that.”

“Patrick, baby. How old are you?” Gabe still sounds amused, not like he's mocking Patrick, but that he finds something amusing in all of this. Patrick mostly feels like a petulant teenager; he just doesn't understand.

When Patrick doesn't respond right away, Gabe pokes his cheek. “Twenty-three. Which you knew.”

“And how long have you been twenty three?” Gabe's still smiling and Patrick feels the frustration heating his own cheeks because he needs this shit spelled out to him sometimes. He's not a mind reader.

“A few months. What ha-”

“You're a baby. You've lived mostly out of a suitcase on tour. You're a good fucking musician and you're a great man, but what the fuck do you know about living with someone? Like in a house and not a bus? I don't wanna be the one to teach you, you hardly lived with your ex-girlfriend, you told me that much yourself.”

“What does that have to do with anything? I won't learn if I don't find someone that wants it.” Patrick is flustering and he can hear how his voice is getting pitchier with his frustration.

“I do want it,” Gabe smirks, fingers pressing against Patrick's chest, over the soft knit of his vest. “But we gotta take it slow because I'm a fuck up and you're so inexperienced.”

"But you don't do anything slowly! You don't wanna be the first person to move in with me, so what-- do you want me to find someone else? That's what you're saying?” Patrick pulls his glasses off, tucking them to his tank as he stares at his knees. “I don't get it. Like, are you saying you want to break up because honestly I'm fucking confused. I don't understand what you're saying.”

“I don't want to break up. I didn't explain that properly. We just need to slow this shit down for both our sakes. You're a baby and I'm new to this whole serious commitment thing, so,” Gabe shrugs, looking uncomfortable. Patrick always thinks things like this come easy to him, but maybe not. “I'm not gonna move in with you but only because I want this to work. I'm trying to be the grown up for once.”

It doesn't make sense to Patrick, but he doesn't fight it either. He figures being with Gabe like this is better than not at all, and it's not like Gabe doesn't spend half his life at Patrick's anyway. He puts a hand to Gabe's neck, fingers brushing the short dark hair.

“I shouldn't have let Pete hit you, that makes me a douche,” Patrick says, he licks his lips, feeling shit because Pete didn't hold back and Gabe's gonna have a pretty bad bruise for the next week.

“Probably,” Gabe says, but he's kissing at Patrick's mouth, long figures curling over his belly, resting on top of his sweater vest. Patrick guesses he's forgiven. “I'm sorry I didn't explain shit to you, but you ran away before I got the chance.”

“Figured I was getting dumped,” Patrick says. He thinks he might start crawling into Gabe's lap and doing wicked things to him to make up for it. He stops himself because this is Pete's house, and he isn't Pete. He doesn't do shit like that. “I'm not very good... I'm a baby.”

“A cute baby,” Gabe says, nose pressing to Patrick's jaw, not stopping when there's a cough from the door.

“Oh god, that's weird. Don't do that shit in front of me,” Pete says, dropping down beside Patrick. “So you're back together?”

“We never broke up,” Gabe says leaning back. His legs lift up onto the coffee table and Patrick sinks into his side, trying to ignore the snares of embarrassment niggling his insides. He overreacted to something shitty and everyone in the room knows it.

“Well, thank fuck for that. I couldn't deal with the fucking fall out,” Pete says, fingers trailing through his bangs. He's not staring at either of them, sinking back into his own thoughts again. Patrick will make Gabe talk to him later, it's probably Ashlee trouble.

“I'm gonna take him home,” Gabe says, tugging Patrick up with a firm hand. “Thanks for the shiner, though, dude. I appreciate it.”

“Take your meds,” Patrick calls on the way out, hearing Pete grunt a response in return. “You need to talk to Pete later, something's going on with him,” Patrick hisses to Gabe as he opens his car door. “He's getting bad again, I think.”

“He's alright,” Gabe insists. “He has ups and downs, that's all.” Gabe adjusts the seat, sliding it all the way back as he bags the driver's seat. Patrick hops into the passenger side, rapping his knuckles on the window. “Don't worry about it.”

 

Patrick doesn't really think much changes between himself and Gabe. They fuck and they have fun and Patrick finds he infinitely prefers dating Gabe to being his friend. His humor is different to what he projects on stage, and he's got a quiet intelligence that Patrick never figured before. He leaves books all over Patrick's house and Patrick reads them out of boredom. It's shit past his level of intelligence and he'll phone Gabe if he's busy wanting answers about Judaism and shit that he never learnt in high school.

“Kinda glad you're super smart, papi. Those good looks won't last forever,” Patrick tells him on the phone. He doesn't know where Gabe is, at a party probably. If he asked he'd find out, but Patrick trusts him. Gabe’s a free spirit and Patrick doesn't want to dampen that. He's sober enough to give Patrick the answers he wants before they hang up.

When he's not enlightening himself to Gabe's vast degree of knowledge, Patrick spends time with Pete, fighting him over lyrics and shutting down Joe when he tries to change the riff Patrick's gunning for. He feels bad about it, but Patrick knows what works. He knows the best music to tie Pete's lyrics down and he's always right; Patrick is the music, Pete's the lyrics. It's what works

Patrick still doesn't really know what he's doing. Doesn't know how he's famous, only that he is, in a weird way. But he goes with it, he sits in on boring meetings and tries to hold conversation when Pete checks out. He shakes hands and he cringes through press parties, feeling uncomfortable with everything. But then he can go home and more often than not Gabe will be there, propped up in his bed. Patrick falls against him. Sometimes they fuck but more often than not, Patrick just falls asleep half on top of him.

There's a loud noise outside Patrick's house a week before Gabe leaves for tour. Gabe's at his place, but Patrick groans into his pillows, resting his hand on Gabe's bare chest. He waits it out a few seconds, hoping the noise goes away or that sleep takes him under again.

“Who the fuck is that?” Patrick asks, hearing the sound of a truck backing up into his driveway, resolutely not disappearing. “You're bigger and more intimidating, tell them they got the wrong house.”

“Your house...” Gabe's voice is hoarse, his accent thicker as he snuggles closer. Patrick tries to shut his eyes to the noise, but it's stirred him too much now and he's fully awake. He presses his foot to Gabe's calf, pressing harder, but Gabe just fake snores loudly.

Patrick climbs from the bed, tugging on some boxers and straightening his t-shirt before shuffling from the bedroom and down the hallway as he hears his intercom go. Patrick doesn't bother with the phone, pulling the front door open to see two delivery men standing there.

Patrick squints at the side of the truck before turning to the one with the clipboard. “I didn't order a hot tub,” Patrick says, watching the man stare at him in confusion.

“You're not Gabriel Saporta?”

Patrick laughs hysterically, choking back when they stare at him in alarm. “No, but I know him.” Patrick signs the delivery, giving them directions to do whatever the fuck they need to install it in the backyard. By the time he's shuffled into the kitchen, Gabe's fucking around with the coffee machine. Patrick hugs him from behind, forehead resting below his shoulder blades.

“Thank fuck it came before I leave for tour, right? Looking forward to christening it later, no?” Gabe says. He shifts, so that Patrick's tucked to his front instead. “I'm moving in on the condition I get to keep the hot tub.”

“I didn't ask you again,” Patrick says, not mad, confused mostly. “Who said that offer was unconditional?”

“You love me and I'm here enough and why the fuck not? I think we can deal with it.” Gabe's hands tuck tight to Patrick and he digs his chin into Gabe's chest, looking up at him with a craned neck. “I can move in with you and we'll see how this works.”

“Your tour starts in a week,” Patrick says, blinking up at Gabe. He scrunches his face up when Gabe pushes his hair from his face. “We could've had more time.”

“Don't bitch, I've been here all week anyway.” Gabe dips his head down and kisses Patrick, patting his ass softly before stepping back. “Go back to sleep if you want, papi will look out for bad boys out back.”

“Too early for you to be talking like that,” Patrick grunts. “See you later, babe. I'm going back to bed.” Patrick shuffles out of the room, crawling back into his warm bed for the next four hours.

 

“I still don't get it, you two being together,” Pete says, because he's invited himself around and is sitting in Patrick's hot tub. Patrick sits in the shade, on the bench, the opposite side to where Pete's lounging. Patrick can see a blur of black shorts beneath the bubbles, and he's grateful for small miracles. Gabe's still on tour, and Patrick's trying to get used to the downtime alone before Pete arrived.

“What's not to get?” Patrick looks at Pete's face this time. He looks tired, dark circles beneath his eyes and hair that looks unwashed. Patrick figures he isn't here because he wants to hang out.

“Dunno. Of all the people to calm him down who'd have thought it'd be _you_?” Pete's pissed then, and clearly gunning for a reaction. Patrick's used to it over the years, and he just drinks his orange juice instead of getting annoyed.

“Don't be a brat to me because you're fighting with Ashlee again,” Patrick says when he's finished his drink. Pete picks at his nails at that, a stupid pout on his lips. “Gabe won't be back for another few days so you can either talk to me about it or leave until he gets back.”

Pete doesn't say anything for a while, deciding to continue staring down at his nails instead, before figuring he's out of other options. “I crushed hard on Ashlee, yanno? Like, she was my ideal girl, but now I'm not sure.”

“She seems nice.” Patrick doesn't know her, not really. She's around when they tour, and through her own fame she's bought them some warped form of notoriety. Patrick doesn't blame her for it, but it's true. He figured Pete was happy. “I didn't know you were having problems.”

“It's me because it's always me. I'm a fucking problem, Patrick.” Pete's shoulders sink in the hot tub, Patrick can see how thin he is. He doesn't really know the answers to any of this.

“Yeah, well,” Patrick shrugs, crossing his legs in front of him. “You're not as bad as you were once.”

“You think?” Pete snorts and Patrick wonders how long this cycle of self-pity will last. He gets that Pete's always going to have _issues_ , but Patrick doesn't understand why he always has to have them fed like this.

“2005 was a low year, I think, and most of the times you were with Jeanae.” Again, a nice girl, but definitely not the right one for Pete. Patrick was only a few years older than her when they first got together, and it was never his place to say anything about the age gap, but he always found it a little weird. “You're better than that.”

“But not better, not good enough.” Pete's voice is nasally and thin, he's ready to snap at Patrick if he even dares bite. Patrick stares at his own feet instead of at his friend.

“That's on you to change though,” Patrick answers softly. “If you want things to improve with Ashlee you have to step up and want to make it work. You can't just blame her and then run away.”

“She's your age, but she's so fucking immature,” Pete says instead. It's a constant circle of pandering to Pete's own issues or hating on whomever he's with. Patrick isn't good at that, he's not good at any of this.

“You're twenty-eight, Pete. Do you really have any right to be calling her immature with all the bullshit you pull?” Patrick stands up, suddenly tired and irritated from Pete. “Look, you can crash here until Gabe gets home, but don't expect me to pander to your pity party anymore, alright?”

Patrick sees Pete on and off, and he's woken up one day by a one-sided screaming match Pete's having with Ashlee. Pete's eyes are red the next time Patrick sees him, but he's taking his meds at least, Patrick watches him swallow them down with some of Gabe's weird vodka. Patrick sits down next to him that afternoon, writing with him, and tries not to get pissy at all.

“Papi's home, bitches!” Patrick hears Gabe's holler from all the way in his office and he's itching to get out there and make out with him to death because he's missed him like crazy, but he can already hear Pete talking and Patrick's a bitter bitch at times. Patrick sits it out, waiting until he hears Gabe's footsteps down the corridor before twisting in his chair.

“Hey, dickhead, when I shout papi's home, you're supposed to come running,” Gabe says, kicking the door shut behind him before he's curving down, buckling his knees enough for Patrick to stretch up for a kiss. “I see our guest hasn't left yet.”

“I could only handle like two hours of the drama before I said he had to wait for you to get back or go home.” Patrick keeps his hands locked over Gabe's neck, so that he doesn't go standing to his full height any time soon. Patrick's pretty good at containing his neediness, but, man, he's missed Gabe. “I figured he'd go home, but he didn't.”

“I need to shower and eat something that is made of actual food, but I'll talk to him after, promise.” Gabe lends Patrick more kisses, hands on his face, like he's missed this too. Patrick smile at him, leans up to push back Gabe's dark hair before stepping back.

Patrick eats a pint of vegan ice cream by the spoonful as he listens to Gabe and Pete talk in the hot tub. Gabe's way more patient than Patrick could ever be. Patrick thinks he's pandering to Pete too much, not giving him enough of an ass-kicking, but then again, Pete seems to be responding well to this, better than he does when Patrick tries to help him out.

“I swear to God I think he's been bathing in that hot tub,” Patrick says, plucking his spoon from his mouth when Gabe wanders into the kitchen. His shorts ride low on his hips and Patrick's eyes are drawn down to the dark hair trailing into the trunks. Patrick licks the back of his spoon, enjoying the view.

“I'm working on it, but like, are you eating all of my ice cream again?” Gabe grabs at the ice cream, dipping his finger into the mixture before sucking it into his mouth.

“We live together, what's mine is yours, right?”

“That only works if you're married, that ain't happening.” Gabe hands the pot back, kissing Patrick's cheek. “Look, I'll have him cheered up and back to Ashlee in a day or so, then it's just us again. Alright?”

“But then I'm leaving for tour,” Patrick says, not wanting to be a drama queen, not wanting to dump all of his shit on Gabe when he's just got home. “And you've barely been home, you've hardly told me about how it went.”

“I'm a spokesperson for crazy creep, I kinda hate that, but I've sold my soul to make art for it now so--” Gabe's cut off by Pete's loud shout from outside. “-- fuck it, we'll talk later.”

Patrick waits it out, but eventually Pete makes to leave. He's all wrinkled up, but Patrick hugs him back all the same. “I keep thinking about how the fuck you guys even have sex and it's creeping me out.”

“I guess that means it's time for you to go home,” Patrick says. He tries to be nice, but his stomach is hurting from all the ice cream now, and he's starting to get brain freeze. “We did try reverse cowgirl once, I sorta fell and it kinda hurt.”

“My God, Patrick! I'm leaving before you tell me more,” Pete says, patting Patrick's cheek and grabbing the car keys he threw on the island the day he turned up. “I'll see you later.”

“You seem pretty downbeat, papi,” Patrick says later that night. Gabe's been fine, really, attentive to Patrick, and responsive when Patrick sucked him off before bed, but now that they're curled up, now that Patrick's running soft fingers through Gabe's dark hair, he can sense a change. “What's the matter?”

“Cobra is blowing the fuck up, thanks to you and Pete, which like, seriously, thanks the fuck. I'm so glad I hooked up with someone like you,” Gabe murmurs. Patrick laughs, resting his cheek on Gabe's head. “But I dunno. Maybe I pushed the party persona too much because now people only see me as a peyote smoking, gold chain wearing party dude. I don't know. That's not all I am.”

“I know that, most people know that. It's just like a persona sort of thing.” Patrick isn't sure how to deal with his boyfriend and best friend having a crisis on the same day, but he tries to soothe Gabe as best he can.

“Yeah, but I feel like people just laugh it off the moment I try and take a breather from the wackiness, you know?” Gabe lifts his head to stare at Patrick, who tries to run a soothing finger down the side of his face.

“Honestly, I know we only just sent him home, but I think Pete's probably got a better idea about what you're going through than me. He gets it a lot too.”

“Yeah, but when I'm sad I wanna talk to you, not Pete. I think it's just post-tour blues, right? Just whining for the sake of it.” Gabe snorts, lifting up from where he was resting against Patrick's chest, to next to him on the bed. He twirls his finger in a circular gesture. “Roll over, I wanna spoon.”

Patrick does as he's told, sinking back into Gabe when he feels long arms wrap around him. It's been weeks since they've been able to do this, but it feels natural; it feels right.

Gabe picks up after a few days, and it probably helps the fact that Patrick pays him a ton of attention and fucks him at least once a day. Then, things pick up with Fall Out Boy again and Patrick's gone, flipping the lid on his cell and dialling Gabe's number whenever he's feeling low. It happens more lately, Patrick doesn't get it.

 

Pete drops the bombshell out of nowhere. He tells Gabe and Patrick together at their house, like he's completely aware of Patrick's reaction. “Why weren't you using protection, idiot?” Patrick says, feeling Gabe's hand tuck to his waist, keeping him by his side. Patrick's rarely angry like this anymore; mellowed at twenty-four, but he can feel hot sparks of it behind his eyes.

“Oh fuck you, Patrick. Maybe this is what I want. Maybe I'm gonna start a fucking family and actually grow the fuck up. Maybe this is what I need.” Pete falters and Patrick shakes his head, stepping out of Gabe's touch and walking away.

Gabe comes to find him sometime later, when Pete's left to break the news to someone else. They're getting married as a flimsy cover, but Patrick doesn't see anyone buying that for a second. Patrick wants to be happy for Pete, wants it to work, but it never does.

“You're really mad that he's having a baby,” Gabe says, shifting one long leg over the other as he sits beside Patrick on their bed. “Are you jealous?”

“Not jealous, no, but I just don't think it's right. He's actually gonna have to take responsibility for this. He can't come over here bitching now that he has a child. He's gonna have to do it for himself.” Patrick shuts his eyes and tries not to feel weird over the fact this feels like heartbreak.

“He will.” Gabe bats a hand, pulling on Patrick's wrist to drag him into his arms. Patrick goes with it, breathing in Gabe's scent. “It's more than that, but I don't think you get it yet.”

“Do you get it?” Patrick's voice is muffled through Gabe's shirt, but he doesn't bother repeating himself.

Gabe shrugs. “You're angry, I think you might be beyond that. Just, cool your jets around him at least.” Words like that make Patrick's anger more raw and palpable and he feels close to crying because no one else-- _no one_ else gets excuses like that, but-- He takes a few breaths, rests his cheek against Gabe's chest.

“What's gonna happen when they come crashing down, though? What's gonna happen to that poor kid?” Patrick speaks softly into Gabe's chest, wondering why this feels so wrong to him. Pete's his best friend, Patrick's never cared this much before.

 

Patrick grows to accept the fact that there's now going to be a mini Wentz running around the place. There's not much he can do and he swallows his concerns down, on Gabe's advice, and goes back to supporting Pete. Letting him burn his way through life until they're left to deal with the singed fall out once more. Patrick fakes his way through the wedding, through Gabe getting wasted at the reception and kicked out by Ashlee's father. He pretends until he sees Pete's unsure smile flicker into something more sturdy.

It's different though, things are different now. Pete's so wrapped up with Ashlee, and it's still not healthy, but he isn't as obsessive about it as he has been with others in the past. Pete seems better, but it still feels like he's going to crash into a wall at some point, that Gabe and Patrick will be cleaning his shit up again.

Patrick can't remember the last time they sat around as a band and just had fun together. Patrick's sad, some part of him inside is sad and maybe breaking a little bit, but he doesn't say anything, just keeps going. He doesn't see the point. Recording the record is brutal and Patrick loathes every second. He snaps at Joe for no reason, and he's constantly back and forth with Pete over lyrics and it gets to the point that Pete just stops pretending to even fucking care.

“So The Academy Is and Cobra are both at Warped this year,” Pete says, sprawled out on the couch. He's not looking up from his phone, but it's obvious his conversation is directed at Patrick. The only other person in the room is Joe, who's tucked up in the corner with his guitar, staying out of everything for now.

“Yeah, Gabe's pretty excited,” Patrick says quietly. He knows this is heading somewhere nasty, can tell by Pete's tone, but he tries to take the moral high ground by acting cheery. “Must be exciting for you, having both bands repping the label.”

“You know they were legit, right? Gabe and Bill. Be careful Beckett doesn't go snooping where you don't want him. He's been looking good recently and they've always had a connection. Gabe’s always liked him.” Pete fucking hesitates at that, like he knows he's pushed it too far, played too much into Patrick's insecurities, but then he's hopping up from the couch. “Ash had a scan today, gonna check in to see how it went.”

Patrick stares down at the soundboard, not really sure what to make of it. He's pissed that Pete would even think of saying that, but it's always a fucking game to him and he knows how to play Patrick; knows how to rile him up.

“Pete's just being an ass,” Joe says quietly. Patrick looks over at him, embarrassed when he realizes his vision is actually blurred and he's genuinely upset. Patrick wipes his eyes from under his glasses and rests his hands on his thighs, waiting until he's composed himself.

“Didn't you have some shit you wanted to go over? I was way too controlling earlier, I'm sorry.” Patrick tries, so that he's not fighting with everyone in the band. He doesn't even know where Andy is, but he never shows up for the whole recording process anyway.

Going home that night sucks. Patrick's still on edge from Pete's words earlier, even though Joe insisted on telling him numerous times that Pete's just being a dick. The words stick and they hurt. Patrick is _fat_ , his biggest probably, and that's never been something Gabe's wanted previously. Why would now be any different?

“You and William, what, like. You know?” Patrick mutters to Gabe that night. Gabe's playing video games, his legs in Patrick's lap. He's not really listening, but Patrick can't switch off from Pete's words.

“Fucked around a few times,” Gabe says, picking up on what Patrick's asking eventually. “Back when I was in Midtown. He's super toppy though, was never my thing, so it was destined to fall flat.”

“So you wouldn't like – even if he's there and willing because – fuck, it doesn't matter.” Patrick shakes his head, feeling like a dick for accusing Gabe of shit. He doesn't know William that well. They grew up in the same scene, knew each others bands, but Patrick was never that interested in the guys in the band, only the music they played. He only really started talking to him when Pete signed his band, but they've never been close.

“Sure hope you're not accusing me of anything,” Gabe says softly, pausing his game and removing his legs from Patrick's lap. He looks at Patrick seriously, dark eyes staring blankly at Patrick. “Do you not trust me or some fucked shit?”

“It came out wrong. I trust you, I just--” Patrick throws his head back and groans, unsure whether to spill out the stupid insecurities that Pete knows, that everyone figures but never says anything about. “Rumor has it William's looking good right now and I'm really not. I just don't wanna hold you back or anything, not if this isn't what you want.”

“I--” Gabe's mouth open and shuts when Patrick dares to look at him. Patrick can feel the way Gabe's trying to control his temper, trying to stop a fight from happening.

“Gabe, I didn't--” Patrick says, shutting his eyes when Gabe stands up. Patrick's too tired to fight, too exhausted to do something about Gabe leaving the house. Patrick stares at the paused tv screen for maybe an hour, feeling like shit and ignoring the buzz of his phone. It's Pete, when Patrick sees, but he's only apologizing for the shit he said earlier. It's too late for that.

Patrick goes to bed eventually, watches the digits change on his clock on the bedside table. Patrick hears the door go at some point, Gabe returning home. He's half expecting him to stay away, sleep on the couch or maybe the guest room, but he comes through the bedroom door, falling over Patrick on the bed.

“Bro, you gotta figure out your self-esteem shit,” Gabe says to him, breath warm and wet against Patrick's face. “You've got to fix it for yourself.”

“Pete thinks you're gonna cheat at Warped,” Patrick says, sliding close to him. Gabe smells like booze and smoke. Patrick doesn't know where he went, only that he's back now. “I know you won't, but he knows how to get into my fucking head and I--” Gabe presses a long thin finger against Patrick's lips.

“Maybe it's your relationship with Pete that needs fixing if he's feeding you shit like that,” Gabe slurs. There's spit pearling on the curve of his lip and Patrick wipes it off with his thumb.

“I don't know how. Do I do this record an--”

“He's having a kid, Patrick. He's stressed and you guys always fight when you write, but you'll figure things out, you always do.” Gabe makes it sound so easy, that this is just like all the other times.

“It feels different this time,” Patrick shrugs, finally figures that he's never going to get a proper heart to heart with Gabe when he's drunk. “I'm sorry about being an ass earlier. I know you won't cheat.”

“Too fucking right I won't,” Gabe slurs, he rolls closer for a kiss, his lips catching to the right of Patrick's mouth. Patrick pats his cheek, rolling out before Gabe falls face forward on top of him. He strokes his hair, waiting until he's asleep, not feeling any better now that he’s home.

They finish the record and Patrick fucking loves it. It doesn't sound like them, but Infinity didn't sound like them and Cork Tree wasn't much like their earlier sound either. Patrick thinks he's probably gonna have to work on rebuilding his friendship with Joe a little. They fought big time on this, and he's stayed away from Pete mostly.

Patrick just feels like he's in a bad place. Not mentally, not like depressed, because he's seen Pete depressed, and Gabe's told him of his experiences with it, but Patrick just feels out of it, like he's out of sync with the rest of the band. He writes still, even after the record, but it's not Fall Out Boy stuff, and the thought scares him.

By the time Gabe's off on Warped, Patrick's mostly over the thought of him and William. Gabe actually really enjoys being with him, that's what Patrick tells himself, even though his stomach presses too tight to his jeans these days, even when he tries to suck it in. The last time he saw William, Patrick could count the bones of his ribs through his thin shirt. Gabe's not into that shit, Patrick tells himself and forces himself to forget.

He catches some footage of the tour on Fuse backstage somewhere and for a second he's almost embarrassed because Gabe looks to have walked into a closet of neon vomit and come out smiling. Patrick's chest feels all warm though, and his cheeks are rounded out just at the sight of him.

“I can see his dick through those pants,” Pete says wandering into view and dumping himself down on the couch next to Patrick. He looks better right now, better than he did when they were still writing. Patrick's been giving him space; been expecting him to come over and crash the hot tub again at some point, but he's not been over since Gabe's been away. They're being nicer to each other, but it's not what it once was.

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees, watching the gold-tipped mic bounce against Gabe's thigh. “He likes that.”

“You like it too,” Pete smirks, and it's like he's acting, almost. Teasing Patrick because that's what he used to do. Patrick faux-scowls, bats half-heartedly at the thigh closest to him before shrugging. He doesn't know how they're going to make it through a tour together. “Oh hey, I got the treatment for the video through today. You prepared to do some ass-grabbing.”

“I don't think so,” Patrick says, shaking his head. “Never.”

“Too later, Stump. You'll love it,” Pete winks at Patrick, gum dropping from the corners of his teeth to his tongue. Patrick laughs at him, properly this time, before shutting the TV off when he sees William and Gabe grinding together on TV.

 

Between Bronx being born and the release of their album, Patrick quietly falls apart. He doesn't tell Pete, and he doesn't tell Gabe. He thinks about all the songs he has, all the demos he's recorded on his computer and how they're never going to be Fall Out Boy shit. He doesn't want them being Fall Out Boy shit.

Pete's better, now that Bronx has been born, but there's distance that can't be crossed between them. Patrick doesn't understand; he remembers how hurt he was when he found out Pete was having a kid. He gets it one night, right before they leave for tour. To tour this album that nobody much seems to like. Patrick's dreading it.

“Do you think maybe I was in love with him or something?” Patrick says, sitting up suddenly, like the thought has only just dawned on him. Gabe laughs gently, pulling Patrick back down.

“You only just figuring this shit out?” He asks. Patrick crawls into Gabe's side, tucking his soft body over all the taut lean parts of his boyfriend.

“But I never-- I never wanted to fuck him or anything.”

“Yeah, but there's different kinds of love, Patrick. You've never pandered to his issues, but at the same time I think you probably put him on a pedestal, you didn't want him, but you didn't want anyone else to have him, either.” Gabe doesn't sound judgemental, he sounds like he's known this for years. Patrick doesn't know what to do with that information.

“Only because he always gets hurt,” Patrick tries to reason instead. “And I don't wanna have kids with him or anything. I don't know. It's weird, but maybe I did or do love him. Not like I love you, different to that.”

“Yeah I know. I wouldn't be here if I thought it was something more. Don't worry about it, baby. Just think of ways to work through it,” Gabe says softly. He sounds sleepy, like he can't deal with anymore of this conversation so Patrick shuts up, watching Gabe sleep and catching none himself.

 

The tour should be fun. Patrick's in a band and he's bringing his boyfriend and his band with them too. It should be fun, but it isn't. Patrick's barely talking to the rest of the guys, and they're not talking to each other either. Patrick hides out with Vicky, who doesn't ask questions. He's drinking occasionally, but not to the excess of before.

“You're losing weight,” Gabe says to him one night, hands beneath Patrick's shirt in his bunk. Patrick's hiding from his own band, glad that he can use Gabe as a cover these days.

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees. He needs the change, he wants to shed everything about who he is. He wants the weight gone, and the terrible clothes, he thinks part of him wants to band gone too, but he's terrified of saying anything. “Do you like it?”

“If you like it I do,” Gabe smirks, curving awkwardly on top of Patrick in the bunk. The years they've been together now, will never teach them how hard this is to do.

Things don't necessarily get worse, they just stagnate in the stale atmosphere. Patrick dreads getting on stage; feels like he's a hologram for the guy all the fans paid money to see. He says the wrong things in interviews, grinds his teeth when the rest of the guys shout him out about it. Patrick just leaves, cowers in corners and wishes he was back at home with Gabe away from all this shit.

“I don't know how much longer I can take, Gabe. It isn't fun anymore. I love those guys with all my heart, but I don't think we like each other much.” Patrick squeezes his eyes shut because he doesn't want to be thinking these things, thinking about throwing in the towel; but it's so hard and he's so tired. The fans aren't liking the record, they're booing between songs and Patrick can't stand it. He used to be able to go to Pete for support on this, but he's either at a loss or completely absent. He's a dad now, a husband, he has better things than Fall Out Boy.

“You'll figure it out,” Gabe says. It doesn't really help Patrick's state of mind, but he's starting to wonder what will. “We'll finish the tour and then you can take a break and figure your shit out.”

“I wanna leave,” Patrick says instead, tugging on his arm and pulling him away from anyone prying ears. Patrick's never much been good at vocalising when he's upset and he's still the same kid as he was. He just starts crying instead of getting his words out and Gabe brings him in close, lets him cry his frustration out. “I'm so fucking done.”

Patrick gets through the tour somehow, but things have changed and they all know it. They've agreed to end things for now and Patrick can't fucking wait. Looking at Pete makes him mad, and looking at Joe and Andy makes him want to cry. He needs space, he needs to be creative away from his comfort blanket of the band.

 

Patrick sleeps for what feels like a week when it’s all over. He's never been good at answering emails and he's even worse now. He eats when Gabe tells him to and he tries to make conversation, but he feels a little bit like he's in mourning. It's probably Patrick's fault, everyone probably hates him, and he just wants to crawl somewhere small and never leave. The relief of the band ending has turned to self-hate and shame and he doesn't know what to do about it all.

“Where are you going?” Patrick says when he actually makes it downstairs for breakfast. Gabe’s filled a bowl with cereal, almond milk beside it in a carton. Patrick wouldn’t bother to eat otherwise. Sometimes it’s a thing, not too serious for Patrick, but he knows Gabe worries about it considering the weight loss recently.

“Out.” Gabe's being quiet about it, so somewhere Patrick doesn't want him to go. To Pete's. Patrick bristles already.

“He doesn't fucking need you, Gabe. He has a wife and a kid and a bunch of other people that will go running.” Patrick slams his fist on the table, hoping it's enough to make Gabe figure that he feels like he's drowning on his own insides, that he's choked up.

“I'm worried he might do something,” Gabe admits instead. His phone beeps, and Patrick knows right away who it is. “He's really low about the hiatus.”

“What and the rest of us aren't?” Patrick stands up, suddenly mad, suddenly really tired of tucking his tongue behind his teeth for years and years. “He's a needy fucking mess because he's Pete, that's who he is, but you should be with me! You think I'm happy about this? You think I don't want to throw myself in front of a fucking bus right now?”

“Don't say shit like that.” Gabe's eyes flash and he grabs at Patrick's arm, shaking him roughly. He squeezes tight and Patrick flinches, the pain soothing the anger slightly. “Don't you dare say shit like that.”

“But Pete can say it and everyone goes running. You should fucking think about that. I've had him doing that to me since I was seventeen. If you think that hasn't fucked me up even the tiniest bit then you know what, fine, go see him. Go pick him up off the ground because I am fucking done. I'm done with him and I'm done with everyone that can't fucking see it.”

Patrick leaves, sits in his car, in his pajamas, and cries to himself. Wet and snotty, throat hot and sore. He hasn't cried like this in years, not since he was a teenager. He waits ten minutes, waits until he sees Gabe leave their house and climb into his car, before he drives off anywhere.

Patrick wants to drown his sorrows, something he's always had a tendency to do. He goes to the store, almost embarrassed because his eyes are red and he's in his pajamas. But then, this is LA. Weirder things happen. He buys a bottle of cheap whiskey and starts to drink it on their patio back home, staring at the clear sky and trying not to think.

Patrick shuts his eyes to the spinning of the sky when it gets too much, but he still hears the sound of the sliding doors opening and the smell of Gabe's cologne when he sits beside him.

“I'm sorry I didn't stay here with you,” Gabe says softly, and Patrick figures something went wrong at Pete's then. Patrick's not naturally a spiteful person, but when his boyfriend goes running to someone else in a crisis it does bring out a nasty edge.

“You know it's a game, right? This was a game to see who you'd run to. Who you'd pick.” Patrick tries to open his eyes, but it hurts. He hears the wet sound of liquor being sipped from a bottle and the gasp Gabe makes when he swallows it down.

“He's been my best friend for years, Patrick. You guys have put me in a really hard place in recent weeks.” Patrick suddenly hears the sadness in Gabe's voice, even wasted and full of self-pity, Patrick feels like a terrible boyfriend. “I didn't realize he was testing me until I got there. He got mad at me for leaving you, if that means anything.”

“Too drunk to care,” Patrick says. “I think I fucked everything up, but I didn't see another choice. Everything was starting to hurt inside. I don't blame Pete, I was just tired of him, of everything.”

“I think you need a break from each other. For what it's worth, and because you're drunk and not able to move, I'll admit I've heard the songs on your laptop and they ain't Fall Out Boy shit.”

“No, but considering how bad Folie's gone, maybe I should just toss it all away.” Patrick flops an arm over his eyes to try and hide the way they're watering. “I don't know what to do, Gabe. Tell me what to do?”

“It's gotta come from you, Patrick. Maybe stop drinking this shitty whiskey and come inside.” Gabe's kissing his shoulder and Patrick hears the sound of a bottle being rolled away.

“I don't think I can move,” Patrick admits, feeling his stomach turn when he feels an arm worm its way beneath his knees and under his shoulders. “Are you carrying me bridal style?”

“If the only way to get you into the house is like this then, yeah,” Gabe says. Patrick just goes with it, sighing sadly until he's dropped down onto the couch.

 

It's not like overnight that Patrick suddenly decides to turn his life around. He whines for probably two months, and Gabe's absent for some of it; holed up in a cabin with the rest of Cobra, but at least he isn't running to Pete whenever there's a crisis. He sits up with Patrick when he comes home and they drink together as Patrick tries to explain everything in his chest. He's not sure if it's depression, or some kind of post traumatic stress thing, he's not sure if it even matters. Gabe swears it does, but Patrick shrugs it off, doesn't like to think too hard about it.

 

“So now you've lost all that weight and you're not, like, pissy about me manhandling you anymore, can we try it?” Gabe says one night. Patrick's naked, propped up on cushions because even doggy style is problematic if he's not built up and Gabe's standing beside the bed. Patrick turns, eyes falling to Gabe's cock, thick and dark and he kinda wants to suck it. He leans forward, but Gabe puts his hand to Patrick's forehead, blocking him.

“Try what?” Patrick grunts out, leaning back on one arm and stroking his cock with his other. He's already loose from Gabe's fingers, lube shining wetly between his legs, making him feel ready for anything. He spreads his legs and watches Gabe’s eyes slide down.

“Wall sex, idiot. C'mon, it'll be hot.” Gabe leans down, and Patrick moans because he's a tall fucking Uruguayan glass of water, and he's all Patrick's. His moan turns to a loud squeak when Gabe suddenly hefts him up, and he digs his fingertips into Gabe's shoulders, legs clamping over his waist as Gabe stumbles slightly before reaching his full height.

“Don't drop me, asshole,” Patrick says, squeezing his eyes shut as Gabe walks them over to the wall with the dresser pushed against it. Gabe lifts Patrick up with one hand, awkwardly trying to press his dick inside.

“Not gonna drop you. I'm strong, man.” Gabe braces Patrick against the wall, one hand pushing his thigh up higher. “Okay, I'm gonna have to push all the way in on one go, but you'll be alright.”

“I can take it,” Patrick mutters, because he can. He can take Gabe's cock anyway it comes; in his mouth, in his ass, trapped between his thighs if they wanna play it like that. Patrick groans at the stretch because they forgot to lube Gabe's cock up, and even though Patrick's slippery and stretched, it's still a lot. Gabe isn't small, but Patrick is.

“Papi's got you,” Gabe mutters, even though Patrick's asked him not to say it in the bedroom. He's been asking for _years_ now. Patrick slides his arms tighter over Gabe's neck, ankles locking around his waist.

“You got me pressed against the fucking wall,” Patrick says, testing things out. He leans his shoulders back slightly, arching his back. His thighs tighten automatically, but Gabe holds him tight. “You like the feel of my ass, huh? You like doing me like this?”

“Fuck yes.” Gabe pulls out the slightest bit, before his hips snap forward and Patrick's head slams into the wall. Despite the loss of brain cells, Patrick's turned on. “Say more.”

“Mmm.” Patrick licks his lips, loving it, being pinned against the wall and fucked hard and rough. He carefully moves one hand from the vice around Gabe's shoulder, to pull at his hair. “ _Papi_ likes it, huh? Pinning me between the wall and his cock. I got nowhere to go but further down your dick. Just keep fucking me like that, keep doing me like this.”

“Take it,” Gabe mutters, pushing forward so that his hips are literally the only thing keeping Patrick up. His cock presses along the ridge of Patrick's prostate and Patrick tries to ride his hips back and forth, but Gabe shakes his head, one hand on the small of Patrick's back, the other squeezing his chin. “You're so little and small.”

“Maybe, but I know what you fucking like, I know how you--” Patrick's going for some power bottoming, and it usually works, only the slide of Gabe's thick cock fucking impaling him, and the way his own cock is being rubbed between his bodies, has him coming out of nowhere, shoulders pressed tight to the wall and bruised thighs damp and clamped tight between Gabe's fingertips.

Gabe doesn't say anything, simply slides his dick out as he holds Patrick up against the wall. His muscles are straining, Patrick can see how taut his arms are, and he takes pity, rubbing at Gabe's chest.

“You can finish on the bed, babe,” Patrick says, watching Gabe nod and set Patrick down. Patrick's already aching a little bit, shoulders sore from being rubbed and slammed into the wall, and his ass tense from the lack of lubrication, but he hasn't got time to even crawl onto the bed before Gabe's manhandling him again, throwing him onto the edge of the bed, pressing his face down into the sheets, high on his knees so his ass is in the air.

Patrick lets Gabe do what he wants. He feels his cheeks spread, feels Gabe's fingers rub against where he's loose and sore. Patrick groans into the sheets at the feel of Gabe's blunt head pushing in again, but he takes it anyway, rolling his face into the pillows, wet mouth dampening the blanket beneath him. Gabe's hands are heavy and large, pulling Patrick's hips back into his own, the sharp cut of his hipbones bruising Patrick's ass.

Patrick hisses when Gabe comes, Patrick's bottom half barely on the bed, like a warped version of the wheelbarrow. When Gabe drops him down properly Patrick wiggles so that he's fully on the bed, flopping to his back.

“Okay, that was pretty fucking good,” Patrick says, wincing as he touches between his legs. He swipes his fingers down and lifts them up, Gabe's come already sliding out of him, he can feel it dampening the sheets beneath him. “Condom next time, though.”

“Got carried away,” Gabe shrugs, still breathless. He falls onto Patrick, gentle hands on the side of his face as they kiss. Patrick sighs into it, hands rooting themselves in Gabe's curls, legs spreading so that Gabe can rest properly. “Need to get you cleaned up.”

Patrick whines in the back of his throat. “Kiss me more first.”

Gabe laughs into his mouth, doing just that for a moment. Gabe pulls back for a moment, before he puts both hands beneath Patrick's back and hefts him further up the bed. Patrick purses his lips, it's still taking some getting used to, realizing Gabe can throw him around so much easier now.

“Need to clean you up, you're leaking all over the bed,” Gabe says, but he's pressing his finger beneath Patrick's bottom lip. He's soft, and so's Patrick, but he knows where this is going now and he squirms a little as Gabe slides down, kissing Patrick's chest, his stomach, the soft head of Patrick's dick. He crouches down between Patrick's legs, hands sliding to brace beneath Patrick's knees and pushing them back.

“I don't know,” Patrick whispers, wincing when Gabe lays his knees to touch shoulders. It's far from Patrick's best look, but Gabe's dipping down lower, mouthing at the tops of his thighs. “I don't know how I – ah!” Gabe's mouth makes a seal around Patrick's hole, sucking for a moment, which Patrick would find gross if he wasn't so into getting his ass eaten, even when he's stretched and sore like this. It feels good past that point and Patrick grabs fistfuls of the bedding, scrunching tight between his fingers.

“Goddamn, Patrick, fucking look at you,” Gabe mutters, pulling away to breathe. He lifts his head from where he's been licking and _sucking_ at Patrick, and his lips are bright red, his own saliva and come smeared down his chin. Patrick's going to pass out he's so fucking turned on.

“Use your fingers,” Patrick says even though it – well it doesn't hurt – but there's a burning that Patrick wants to push against; wants to push through. “Touch me, Gabe.” Gabe does as he's told, his long fingers pushing inside. There's no pop, no friction, Patrick's so fucking loose and he's starting to feel delirious, resting his legs over Gabe's shoulders.

Gabe switches it up after a while, slides his fingers out and replaces it with his two thumbs pressing against the edge of his hole as Gabe's tongue roots deeper, curls inside him hard enough that Patrick's heels dig beneath the muscles of Gabe's shoulders. Gabe's fucking humming, like this is a damn good meal, and Patrick can feel the vibrations sliding into his body. His cock isn't filling up, but he's leaking and it's... They've never been this filthy before, Gabe's never eaten his ass like this before, and Patrick, who thinks he's above begging, can hear himself crying out Gabe's name and asking for things that aren't even real. Patrick fucking comes, feels a smaller ripple of warmth spread out, his toes curled over Gabe's back as he shudders over and over.

Gabe's mouth attacks the side of Patrick's face when he's lowered his ankles to the bed. Patrick wants to cry, is overwhelmed by his second orgasm and the soft burning of his body, but Gabe's bundling him up, laughing softly against Patrick. They don't meet up properly, but it doesn't matter, Patrick knows where to put his body parts so that they slide better. He wraps his hands around Gabe's waist, so that they rest in the dip above his ass, over sweat and taut skin.

“So that went better than expected,” Gabe says eventually. Patrick can't speak, just presses his face to Gabe's neck, Gabe's long leg looped over one of his own, ankle reaching down past the tips of Patrick's toes.

“We're doing that again,” Patrick mumbles, but then he's sinking down into the soft pillows beneath him, letting sleep take his afterglow.

 

Patrick tries to put any form of guilt aside when he starts working seriously on his solo work. He's always been bossy in the studio but it's liberating not having anyone to answer to, not having to compromise about lyrics or chord progressions. If Patrick hates a song he can throw the entire thing out and not have three other dudes to explain it to.

Gabe's working on his stuff too, Cobra have their new album, but Patrick stays away from it. He had some input on Hot Mess, but he didn't – it didn't feel right to meddle with this one. Gabe didn't ask anyway, and when Patrick listened to it, the songs weren't really in his realm of understanding either. It's been good working separately for once, Patrick thinks their relationship has shifted; they've both grown up. Patrick finally feels like a man and not a kid.

Gabe's taken Patrick's change in body weight and appearance to mean more than just wall sex on occasion. He's more handsy now, picks Patrick up and puts him on the kitchen island just because he can. Patrick glares for a few seconds before hopping down, leaving the room to the sound of Gabe's loud cackle. It becomes a regular thing, but all Patrick really has to do is kick him in the shin really hard or withhold sex and Gabe calms it down a little.

“I'm thinking of bleaching my hair, maybe, I don't know,” Patrick says one night. They're at a bar that one of Gabe's friends runs, Suarez is here too, but he's off chatting to someone else and the rest of their table is abandoned.

“You wanna shift your twink levels up another notch?” Gabe asks. He's got one arm over Patrick's shoulders, his legs propped neatly on the low table in front of them, surrounded by half empty glasses and strewn napkins.

“I think it would be kinda cool,” Patrick insists. “The album is pretty extravagant, I wanna sort of just say fuck it and show who I am now.”

“You'll make a pretty blond,” Gabe says as he rubs his thumb against Patrick's cheek, smiling down at him. Patrick rubs his hip, fingers sliding to the skin riding between shirt and jeans. He doesn't feel so embarrassed to touch Gabe in public anymore, sort of feels like he's a bit worthier. He'd catch so much heat if he ever worded it, but it's true.

Alex comes back over before Patrick can respond to that comment and he wants to dance. There's a lazy step to his movements and Patrick's suddenly aware that he and Gabe are the most sober people in their party. He throws back his drink and grabs Gabe's hand, yanking him up. Patrick dances between them both, wedged tight and too small. It's fun, though, Patrick just feels free.

 

“You have no idea how hard my dick is right now,” Gabe says backstage at Patrick's first proper show; not a festival, not a little acoustic; his first proper gig without his boys. He wants to curl up and die. Instead he stares at Gabe's tight pants and sees the evidence for himself.

“When isn't your dick hard?” Patrick frowns, presses against his fluttering heart and then presses his face into Gabe's chest. The room is packed with his band, but no one is looking, no one is listening. “I'm scared, papi.”

“I know,” Gabe draws an arm over his shoulders. He smells like the cologne Patrick bought him last Christmas and he's in clothes that make him look like a goddamn male model. He's handsome and he's Patrick’s and – he kinda wants to run away with him right now. He'd even go and live in New Jersey. “But fuck it, you're gonna be great and if everyone hates it, then I'll go out there and I'll tell some of my really funny jokes.” Gabe only knows bad puns and offensive barbs – Patrick knows what it will be. He also knows Gabe will actually do it for him if Patrick asked.

“I'll be fine, I won't need that.” Patrick pulls away. He's already warmed up, can already feel the nerves in the dressing room. He can't stop his hands from shaking. It feels like it did when he first toured with Fall Out Boy, but he hasn't got his best friends to fall back on now.

“You've got this,” Gabe says. He kisses Patrick right there in front of everyone, bending down so Patrick doesn't have to rise onto his tiptoes. He keeps Patrick's feet firmly on the ground. Patrick nods his head. He's totally got this – it's what he wants.

“I’ve got this,” Patrick repeats, ignoring the shaking of his voice as he steps away. He can do this, he doesn’t have to be afraid.

 

Patrick rocks his hips forward, tighter between Gabe's lips and just-- he can't, he's got one hand wrapped over the top of the bathroom stall, Gabe's hands under his ass keeping him up. Patrick wants to wrap his legs around Gabe's neck but maybe that's something to do at home, not in the club bathroom after his first gig.

Patrick can't think for anything; for the kids at the show that looked so fucking happy to see him, for the way it felt singing songs that belong to just him and no one else, for the way it felt being on stage like that, dressed up like someone new and shiny. Now all he can think of is the fact he has his dick near the back of his boyfriend's throat and he's getting blown with his feet lifted off the fucking ground. Patrick slams his head against the wall behind him, rocking back and forth. He doesn't care for the noises he makes; no one can hear over the pa in the restroom anyway, and this is _his_ fucking night. He comes quickly, no space to pull out until Gabe slides his head back, sucking loudly until Patrick's cock slides soft from between his lips. It's a slow slide back onto his feet and he's a little wobbly until Gabe puts firm hands on his hips, helping to tuck Patrick back in and zip him back up.

“I think I really needed that,” Patrick says. Gabe smirks, kisses Patrick, presses him right up against the stall wall and tongue fucks his mouth. Patrick sucks his taste from Gabe, hands sliding up his shirt, holding his flanks beneath his hands.

 

Patrick hears the news before Gabe. He's out touring, but a close friend texts him asking about it and he immediately calls Gabe's cell. It takes a few rings for him to answer, and his lazy tone drops when he hears Patrick's serious voice.

“Ashlee's divorcing Pete. You need to go and be with him,” Patrick says. “I would, but I can't and it wouldn't seem right, so you have to.” Gabe's learned to live with the _Peterick_ split. Patrick isn't bitter or all that hurt with Pete, but they're not what he considers friends anymore, not in the ways that matter. It's okay, Patrick's got over it and Gabe's pretty good at working around them. He hangs out with Pete a lot and he talks to Patrick about what they've been up to, but it doesn't go past that. Patrick's happy the two of them remained close, they were good friends before Patrick got with Gabe, he wouldn't want to be the reason they broke up.

“Oh God. What the fuck?” Patrick hears Gabe clumsily drop whatever he was carrying down the line. “Oh man, yeah. I'll go over there immediately.”

“He'd want you.” Patrick asserts, even when he thinks he'd be the best person for the job. He knows Pete like no one else, not as long as some, but it's different. Patrick's touring though, and he can't just drop things.

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for telling me, Patrick.” Gabe's voice sounds lost, a little reedy, though it tunes back in when Patrick finally tucks himself away in his bunk. “You doing okay? Not had anymore shitty letters?”

“No.” Patrick lies because it's easier than admitting the truth. In reality, the positive outweigh the negative, but it's so much more than it ever was before and the spite seems so personal. Patrick thinks he looks the best he ever has, but he can barely look in a mirror after reading some of the things people have said to him. “I just-- go look after Pete and tell him I'm sorry.”

Patrick straight up worries for Pete and it helps take away some of the stinging edge of nastiness that he's experiencing on the road. He worries about Pete and he phones Gabe again and makes sure he says the right thing, does what's best for Pete. It's not like Gabe wouldn't do it anyway, but, well. Patrick knows best when it comes to Pete. Patrick emails Pete a few times and he gets a response back occasionally. If that's all they have, that's fine, but Patrick wants to make sure Pete doesn't slump like before.

 

Patrick tries. He tries really fucking hard to make himself successful. He throws every single part of himself into his work, but it's just cold. It's like Folie, but worse because he can't even think of letting someone else take some of the blame. He feels like he's let his band down because they're worth so much more than what they're getting, and he feels raw because he can't hide himself behind bad clothes and his best friend. He just-- he can't do anything but wait for it to all be over and when it is, he goes home and he cries solidly for half a day. Gabe's away, he can't help right now, and Patrick doesn't have any words anyway.

Then, Patrick gets a phone call a few days after his bad-move open letter after the fall out of _everything_. Patrick doesn't know why he made some parts so open without explaining his real issues. He's had to fight off phone calls from his parents; old friends that think he's going to kill himself. Gabe's on tour, but he phoned up in a huge panic after he was linked to it.

“I read your blog,” Pete says down the phone when Patrick's rolled over to pick it up. He's still in bed, embarrassment keeping him from getting out there and apologizing. He just silently holds the phone to his ear as Pete talks. “I know it. I think I know how you're feeling, not all of it. I didn't have to deal with what you did, but I don't know. Do you want to hang out?”

“I'm still in bed,” Patrick blurts out, hearing Pete laugh at him softly. “You could come over if you like. Gabe's away at the moment so it's just me here.”

“Well, I can be there in an hour. Will you be up by then?” Pete asks, and then laughs. “Patrick, I know you never change your security codes so I can get in if you don't want to get up.”

“I'll be up, I promise,” Patrick laughs, waiting until Pete hangs up before he drops the phone from his ear. It takes twenty minutes for Patrick to get out of bed, mostly because he starts texting Gabe about Pete coming over. Patrick hasn't seen him properly in around seven months or so now, and he's worried. Patrick's always worried but it's doubled now.

He showers and dresses, pulls on one of Gabe's flannel shirts from years before, just because it smells like his faded cologne and Patrick misses him a lot right now. The sleeves fall right passed Patrick's hands and so he rolls them up to his elbows, keeping it unbuttoned over his t-shirt. Patrick doesn't know why he cares so much, it's only Pete, but he tries to comb his damp hair with his fingers, tries to hide his dark circles with his heavy rimmed glasses.

Pete's standing in Patrick's foyer by the time Patrick makes it downstairs and Patrick just hovers for a moment, staring at Pete. Pete smiles at Patrick when he sees him, and Patrick watches the nerves immediately fade from his body.

“You're alive,” Pete says, “you didn't sound it on the phone.”

“I was in bed.” Patrick makes it down onto the same level as Pete and he hovers by his side for a moment, before he figures why not and throws his arms over Pete's shoulders. Pete squeezes him tight, rocking his chin down onto Patrick's shoulder. Pete feels different to how he used to, wrapped in a layer of muscle and more solid. It's strange, but Patrick gets used to it.

“Aw, I missed your Stump cuddles,” Pete says, pulling away. Patrick smiles at him before staring down at his feet. He tries to stop any awkwardness seeping in, but it does and they stand there in silence for a while until Pete clears his throat. “Do you wanna, like, go sit down or something?”

“Yeah.” Patrick leads the way, pulling Pete into the kitchen to grab some drinks. There's a large supply of energy drinks that Gabe always insists on having, but Patrick goes for some bottled water instead, tossing one to Pete. “So.” Patrick fiddles with the top of his bottle, falling onto the stool next to Pete. “I don't really know what to say.”

“Me either, I just wanted to make sure you're okay. It's not my place but--” Pete shrugs, looking about as uncomfortable as Patrick feels. It's been a long time for them. “So uh, how long have you and Gabe been together now?”

“Just over five years,” Patrick can't quite believe it when he thinks about it, it doesn't seem so long now, though Patrick isn't the man he was when they started, but neither is Gabe. “I kinda think our relationship is the only stable thing in my life right now.”

“You didn't fail, Patrick,” Pete says softly. He sounds grown up, and Patrick wonders when that happened.

“I can't get anything right in my professional life. Folie failed, I failed big time on my solo shit. Do you know how much money I lost?” Patrick turns red, even when he looks Pete in the eye. He threw way too much time and money into that shit and now he can't bear to listen to those songs without cringing.

“Uh, yeah, because you mentioned it in your blog post.” Pete smiles when Patrick looks at him, resting his hand on Patrick's shoulder. “You were pretty straightforward in your post. That's unlike you.”

“I was upset, and I was frustrated and Gabe wasn't here to stop me. Now everyone thinks it was a fucking suicide note.” Patrick rubs at his face. “I am nowhere near as upset about this as I was about the band. Professionally I'm a wreck, but, you know.”

“Yeah, I do, actually. I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing.” Pete laughs, and when he does little creases fold around his eyes. Patrick leans forward touching them.

“Oh, you look old,” Patrick says suddenly, “when did that happen?”

“Divorce, probably,” Pete doesn't sound mad at Patrick's lack of sensitivity, though his hand locks over Patrick's wrist. “What about you, though? You're too thin and I don't like it.”

Patrick looks down at his chest, touching it lightly with his free hand. “Everyone likes me better fat. That has been made _terribly_ clear.”

“That's not what I meant at all, but this is past that. This isn't you.” Pete clutches Patrick's bicep and squeezes it tightly until Patrick looks at him. His dark eyes look serious enough that Patrick can't meet them for a moment.

“I've not really been eating recently,” Patrick admits, slapping at Pete's hand when he squeezes tighter again. “I'll just eat, like, a cupcake and plump up again. You know how it goes.”

“As long as you're not doing anything to make yourself this way,” Pete says slowly until Patrick laughs.

“I'm not starving myself, Jesus, Pete.” Patrick nudges Pete's shoulder with his own and he feels the gap over the last three years shrink a little. It doesn't feel like such a long time ago now.

 

“So Pete phoned me an hour ago,” Gabe says down to Patrick on the phone. Patrick's still sitting in his kitchen, staring out into the garden and trying to stop himself going over everything Pete's just said to him. It wasn't exactly fun, but Patrick feels there's a little more closure now; more warmth between them both. He could've done without Pete's eyes on his every move, checking his body out, but Patrick's done it before in the past; used to assess Pete that way. Everything's different now.

“Yeah? Gossiping about me already?” Patrick laughs but Gabe tuts seriously down the phone.

“He yelled at me for not taking care of you properly, man. Why the fuck ain't you eating? He says you're too thin.” Gabe's voice comes out fast, likes he's genuinely worried and Patrick just sighs heavily, feeling a headache curling at his temples.

“Not too thin, just thinner than he remembers,” Patrick sighs, running his fingers across his forehead in frustration. “I just feel so drained. I don't want to eat, it's not a conscious decision.”

“If it wasn't for all the fans I'd cancel this fucking tour right now and come home to look after you,” Gabe says softly. “I'm sorry I can't be there, but you gotta look after yourself, Pat.”

“I know, I will,” Patrick insists. He takes pause for a few moments before changing the subject. “You running away with Bieber or what, papi?” Patrick asks down the phone. Gabe is god knows where, but he's having fun and that's the main thing. For the most part he sounds happy on the phone, despite the strain in his voice.

“He wants me. But he ain't my type, I've got a sweet bird waiting for me at home, you know?” Gabe says. Patrick doesn't respond, fairly certain he should be offended. He just clucks softly, pressing the phone tighter to his ear.

“You having fun then?” he says eventually. It's pretty weird to be the one at home, waiting up on Gabe. Usually when Gabe's on tour, Patrick's off doing his own thing, but he's on a break, on a 'never touring again' mind trip right now, and it's brutally lonely out here on his own.

“Always. It's-- I don't know, babe. It's different now though; fun, but everything's changed and it's not like it was.” That much is true and Patrick hums a soft agreeable noise down the phone.

“The bed's lonely without you,” Patrick admits on a low laugh before shrugging. “I don't know. Maybe I'm getting old, Gabe. I'm sad and bored and I don't know what I'm doing with my life.”

“Nicely communicated, Patrick. I'll be back soon, alright? Papi loves you.” Patrick misses Gabe so much he doesn't even care for the third person creepiness, he just hears affection. Patrick hangs up not long after, and goes back to staring out his window in thought.

Patrick picks Gabe up from the airport when he comes off tour, lets him squeeze him to death right in the middle of the airport. Patrick's feet leave the ground briefly at the hug, but a quick kick to the shin has Gabe putting him back down on his feet.

“I think that's the last time for a while,” Gabe says when Patrick's driving them home. His hand rests on Patrick's thigh, his head propped up against the window. He's staring at Patrick, eyes on his profile and then down at his body. “You haven't gained any weight like you promised.”

“I never promised,” Patrick says, foot on the break at the stoplight. “I am eating again. I've got a surprise for you, actually, found a way to preoccupy my sad little self at home.”

“Is it pink and does it vibrate because that's hot, you know I like it when you get into that shit,” Gabe smirks. Patrick rolls his eyes, moving off when the light goes green.

“Well, there's that too, but not the surprise I had in mind. Just, I am getting better, okay? I'm feeling better.” Patrick smiles at Gabe, picks his hand up and kisses it lightly before driving off.

Patrick lets Gabe unwind by himself for a while when they get home. Patrick sits in the hot tub and texts Pete back after ignoring his message all day. They're making slow progress. Pete's been over a few times with a pizza, like he's trying to force Patrick into eating. It worked for the most part.

“Hey baby,” Gabe says as he pulls open the glass doors. He's already naked and Patrick smiles at him, resting his phone behind him as Gabe hops into the pool next to him. Patrick crawls over to him, sitting sideways in Gabe's lap.

“You seem down in the dumps a little,” Patrick says softly. He leans his head on Gabe's collarbone, warm hands stroking down his back.

“You know me and my post-tour blues,” Gabe says quietly. He sniffs, pressing his face into Patrick's hair. “I think I'm just totally bummed out about the state of the music business right now and my place in it. Think I need a rest too, just wanna hang out with you for a while.”

“That sounds good,” Patrick rubs Gabe's arm where it's wrapped around his waist. He leans back for a time, letting Gabe hold him close. A few minutes later Gabe's lips find his jaw and Patrick sighs, rolling his head to give him more access. Patrick lets Gabe fondle him, one hand pinching at his nipples, the other pressing against Patrick's cock through his shorts. Patrick feels Gabe slowly spring to attention against his thigh and he turns slightly.

Patrick wriggles around, pulling his shorts off and tossing them over the edge before he takes Gabe's cock in his hand, pumping him a few times, before pressing it between his thighs. Gabe sighs, twisting Patrick's head so they can kiss. Patrick's not all that good at multitasking, and this isn't his best work, but Gabe wants comforting right now.

Patrick just lets Gabe kiss him, bundled up in his lap as he lifts his thighs up and down, letting his cock slide between his legs. Patrick presses gentle fingers around the head, Gabe's tongue twisting into his mouth as he does. It's gentle and it's quiet and it's enough to slowly let Gabe come between Patrick's thighs and over his hand.

“Oh god, I needed that,” Gabe whispers into Patrick's shoulder, pulling Patrick in on a tighter huddle. Patrick's not hard, as much as he enjoys getting Gabe off, but it didn't really feel like they were fucking and he doesn't really want to get off right now, so he just lets Gabe hold him until he's ready.

“We need to get out of this water,” Patrick says after a while. Gabe looks half asleep and Patrick strokes his cheek gently until Gabe groans. “Go inside, papi. I'll clean up out here.”

Gabe manages to stagger out of the hot tub when Patrick moves off his lap and he follows not long later, finding some warm clothes and grabbing his surprise from the kitchen before finding Gabe sprawled on his belly in the den.

“Shut your eyes to the surprise!” Patrick sings and Gabe groans, rolling onto his back on the couch. Patrick climbs on top of him, kissing Gabe's nose and telling him to open up. Gabe looks down at what's in Patrick's hand and frowns.

“My surprise is pie?” he says slowly, swiping his finger across the top of the cream and sucking it into his mouth. “Are you fucking serious?”

“What?” Patrick frowns. “I made this from scratch, I even made the fucking caramel sauce. It's banoffee pie, vegan friendly. I made another one and ate the entire thing so don't say anything about me not eating.”

“But why are you making banoffee pie,” Gabe asks. He runs his sticky finger up Patrick's thigh. “Are you having an existential crisis?”

“A little.” Patrick laughs, grabbing the spoon tucked under the dish. He pushes it into the cookie base and scoops it into Gabe's mouth. “I barely finished high school, all I ever thought of doing was music, but I can't make it work anymore.”

“You can still do music,” Gabe whispers lightly when he's finished his mouthful. Patrick just shrugs, picking a slice of banana up and eating it, sucking the caramel from his fingers.

“After Folie and Soul Punk I'm not sure I'm up for humiliating myself for a third time, not for a while. I explained it all in my blog post, which I'm never going to live down.” Patrick scrunches his face up before shaking his head. “I don't want to talk about that, not for a long time. So I-- I'm making pie.”

“That's fucking weird,” Gabe snorts, but he takes the pie and Patrick's spoon and starts digging in. “This is fucking delicious, man. So glad I never left you for Bill.”

“Shut up,” Patrick says, but he's smiling.

 

Gabe gets stuck in a rut for a few days, a serious one. He sleeps less than Patrick, who just watches boxsets and eats leftover pie. Gabe doesn't really get snappy with Patrick, that's not really his thing, but he punches walls when he thinks Patrick can't hear him and he goes deep into his own head, not really talking at all. He gets on downers after tours, but never like this.

Patrick tries to be a supportive boyfriend even through the mess of his own life, but it's hard because Gabe stops letting him in; shrugs Patrick away when he tries to hold him in bed and changes the subject when Patrick tries to get deep.

“I think I'm just homesick, “Gabe says quietly in bed. He's curled up around Patrick, neither of them sleeping. Patrick kisses Gabe's hand wrapped over his chest, not sure what else to say. “I think I'm gonna go home for a few days, maybe a week.”

“Back to New Jersey?” Patrick asks quietly. He rolls over so that he can see Gabe, frowns up at his face in the dark. He slides a hand up Gabe's side, rubbing gently until Gabe moves backwards to his side of the bed.

“All I keep thinking about is missing home and how nothing is the same. I wanna see my dad and I wanna see my old friends, and my old haunts, you know?” Gabe says quietly, Patrick feels panicked somehow, but he doesn't know why.

“But you only just got back from tour.” Patrick senses this is delicate ground, doesn't want to fight, but he doesn't want to be abandoned again. “I thought you wanted to stay and be with me for a while.”

“I _do_ , but I just. This homesick is turning into anxiety and I just need to go home for a bit first.” Gabe's voice is reaching a higher pitch and it's going to break and turn into something else if Patrick asks anymore questions.

“Okay,” Patrick says quietly. “I'm not going to force you to say in the house with me.”

“That's not what I'm saying, I just need to get away from LA for a while.” A while doesn't sound much like a few days and Patrick feels his stomach churn but he doesn't say anything, keeps his mouth shut.

It's not an overnight bag Gabe packs, it's a case full of clothes and Patrick almost wants to ask if Gabe's leaving him, but he doesn't. Patrick doesn't want to sink to that. He thinks if he does he'll just start shouting because he could really do with his boyfriend being the only fucking stable thing right now, but Gabe's zipping his case up and he's calling old friends and so Patrick bites the inside of his cheek until Gabe's throwing his bag into the trunk of his car.

Patrick takes the same drive to the airport he did a week before, tapping his hands on the wheel and shooting looks at Gabe when he stares out the window. He wants to tell Gabe he doesn't understand, that he's being made to feel like he did at the beginning of the relationship. Patrick likes to think he's better at communicating now, but he can't find it in him to just ask.

“Just-- I mean, let me know you landed okay,” Patrick says when he pulls into the drop off point. Gabe nods and he leans over to kiss Patrick full on the mouth. Patrick supposes that means something and he clutches onto the front of Gabe's shirt for a moment. “Be good.”

“You too. Maybe try making a lemon meringue pie for when I come back, I've always kinda dug that over banoffee.” Gabe's smiling softly, but Patrick just unfurls his hands from his shirt and looks down at his knees.

“When are you coming back?”

Gabe groans, sitting back in his seat. “Patrick, it'll be a month, tops.”

“But you only just got back!” Patrick kicks out, catching his foot on the pedals in frustration. “What was the point of coming home if you just leave?”

“Because it didn't fucking feel like coming home. I don't know, Patrick. You're not the only one going through shit right now. I just, I need to clear my head of tour shit and decompress away from you.”

“Right.” Patrick nods, hands squeezing tight to the steering wheel, enough so that his knuckles turn white. “Have fun decompressing.” He stares out the rearview mirror, keeping his eyes as far away from Gabe as possible until he leaves the car.

Patrick drives around aimlessly for a while, too wired and pissed to get out and breathe. He didn't explain how he felt and Gabe made him feel even worse and Patrick isn't good at fighting, isn't good at reading between the lines.

He ends up at Pete's house, and somewhere inside he's aware that this is maybe sinking back into old habits, but Pete gets it. He always knows how to manage Patrick and Gabe, or he did a few years ago.

“Oh hi, Patrick. This is, uh, like. I wasn't expecting you, but come in!” Pete mutters, opening the door. He looks confused, but Patrick didn't call ahead so he has every right. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I'm not interrupting?” Patrick asks. This isn't the house that Patrick remember being in previously, but it's nice.

“It's just me here. Ash has Bronx and Meagan's on a shoot.” Pete waves Patrick in, and he follows him down through the house until they're in a heavily cluttered living room. It's more homely than the empty rooms of the first house he got and Patrick likes it. “This is a nice surprise.”

“Yeah? I hope so.” Patrick laughs, scratching behind his ear, trying to push away the awkwardness and the sadness trying to settle into his bones.

“You look a little better than before.” Patrick _sees_ Pete's eyes bore down into his skin, assessing Patrick's weight, but he just looks the other way before falling down onto a dark couch, sinking into the cushions.

“I've been eating a lot of pie,” Patrick confesses. “Banoffee pie. I make the caramel sauce from scratch.”

“How badass of you,” Pete laughs, he falls onto the couch next to Patrick. He smells like pot and fresh laundry and Patrick breathes it in. “Why you making pie?”

“It kinda reminds me of writing, actually. Like, I don't know. You've got all these instruments and you have to get them really precise and that's a delicate balance. It can make a song, like, really awesome or really shit.” Patrick's bullshitting and Pete sees right through it, his eyes crinkling up in laughter. “Like, I can do that. I can't write.”

“Yeah, you can,” Pete says, leaning forward to point at his laptop open on his coffee table. “I've been writing a lot actually. Shitty stuff, but if you want to take a look.” Patrick shakes his head immediately, but Pete rolls his eyes and fetches the laptop, dropping it down into Patrick's lap.

“Look through some of the lyrics from here. You've always been my best editor,” Pete says, and Patrick goes to shake his head again, but Pete slaps the side of his head lightly. “ _Do it_. I'll fetch us something to drink.”

Patrick reads through the words on the screen, and they make about as much sense as they used to. Pete's always been wordy and Patrick's always been able to cut through it. He does as Pete wants, hums something terrible beneath his breath, giving himself a melody to work from. There's comfort in picking apart Pete's writing instead of his own.

“Feel better?” Pete asks, standing in the doorway. Patrick's eyes burn when he blinks away from the screen so he figures he must've been at it a while. He hops back over to the couch, peeking over Patrick's shoulder. “So, Gabe must be back from tour now, right?”

“Yeah, last week. He's home now though. His _real_ home because that's where he wants to be.” Patrick doesn't mean to mutter the last part quite so bitterly, but he's upset and for the most part, Pete's always been the person he's ranted to.

Pete picks up on it right away, eyes on the side of Patrick's face. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I don't know,” Patrick shrugs. “I don't understand, but I didn't want to ask because I figured he might be leaving me and I don't want that.”

“He's not going to leave you, and if he was he'd tell you straight up, he's never lead you on before, he's one of the most straightforward dudes I know,” Pete insists, instead of raging like he used to. He's all grown up, diplomatic and calm.

“But he said being around me was making him unhappy. Well, fuck you. What makes me unhappy is how I poured everything into making a record that everyone hates and he's not even here for me.” Patrick feels that heat of anger making him almost light-headed. It's not something he feels so much now, but his nostrils flare even as Pete's hand rests warm on his shoulder.

“I didn't hate it and you're overreacting,” Pete says calmly. “You look different, but you haven't changed.” He's suddenly laughing at Patrick, who can't see the funny side at all. He looks to Pete in frustration, sees the older face of his best friend and just lets it out.

“You know what, I can fucking deal with this usually, but when he specifically says he wants to spend time with me and then leaves with a fucking suitcase and no return date, it's when I get like this.” Patrick throws his hands in the air out of frustration. “I know I should've asked, but I didn't want to fight. He's like the only thing I have right now and he's gone too.”

“Patrick, calm down.” Pete's hands squeeze Patrick's shoulders tight, before lifting the laptop from his lap. “I can phone him for you, like old times, if you want.”

Patrick shakes his head. “I can fight my own battles now.”

“It kinda doesn't look like it. I am like the king of doucheness, Rick, and Gabe's being pretty shitty right now. I just want to defend my best friend.”

Patrick lets his mouth hang open at that before giving Pete a curious look. “You still consider me your best friend?”

“Never had another one like you,” Pete shrugs, standing up and pulling on Patrick's wrist. Patrick stands up, frowning at his friend. “Go take my dog for a walk, I'll deal with this.”

Patrick doesn't know Pete's neighborhood or his dog, but he does as Pete asks. He doesn't really want to be around when Gabe gets the phone call. It is pretty embarrassing passing his problems off to a friend he's hardly spoken to recently, but Patrick's so numb at the moment he kind of doesn't care.

Pete's dog walks Patrick, a lot bigger than Hemingway had been, but he knows his way around the neighborhood, so Patrick lets him guide them down the path. It's nice here, not as secluded as his last house had been. Patrick hasn't moved since he first bought his house, but he likes it around here. If Gabe leaves him maybe Patrick will sell up and find a place here instead.

Pete's still on the phone when Patrick gets back, feet propped up on the coffee table. His face is all red and his hair stands on end like he's been raking his hand through it in frustration, but his eyes light up at Patrick.

“Yo Gabriel, Patrick's back so you can explain yourself to him.” Pete hops up from the couch, handing his cell over to Patrick before whistling to his dog as he leaves the room. Patrick sinks back down onto the couch, legs tucked beneath himself as he takes a breath.

“Hi,” he says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out too soft.

“You went bitching to Pete again.” Gabe's not posed it as a question so Patrick doesn't answer. “The moment you guys are talking he's suddenly involving himself in our relationship again.”

“At least he's here,” Patrick says quietly. “He wants to spend time with me.”

“Oh so now you wanna fucking talk?” Gabe says and Patrick wants to say something but he just hangs up instead, grunting in frustration. Pete's head immediately pops around the corner, frowning when he sees Patrick _not_ on the phone.

“Dude, you did not just hang up on him,” Pete says. Patrick shrugs and Pete marches over, grabbing his phone and redialling. “Yeah, it's Pete. No, I know that was dickish of him, but he won't do it again.” Pete waves his phone at Patrick, who reluctantly takes it.

“I'm not sorry I hung up, but don't fucking blame me for not understanding you.”

“I don't understand you!” Gabe spits. “You got some bad reviews, some shitty hate mail and now you wanna become a hermit that bakes fucking pies? That is not you, Patrick.”

Patrick ignores that comment and goes straight to what he wants to hear. “So you are leaving me?”

“What? Where the fuck are you getting that from? Look, I was in a bad headspace that's all, and it's selfish because I know you're not doing great, but I just needed to get away from you as well. This isn't us breaking up, this isn't me even wanting to take time out of the relationship, it's just. I just need to breathe. You were giving out a lot of negative energy.”

“Oh fuck you,” Patrick says, looking up at Pete still hovering. “Like you were a ray of fucking sunshine.”

“Yeah well you were annoying,” Gabe says with a lot less fire. “I love you, Patrick. I just think breaks are important sometimes.”

“But you were literally on tour away from me.” Patrick knows he's taking the argument full circle, but Pete's sitting beside him now, picking his nails and pretending not to listen.

“But I was worried about you. You told me you wanted to throw yourself under a bus after the hiatus and then I wake up to you writing that fucking blog post.” Patrick doesn't need to look over to see that Pete's staring at him. Patrick can do nothing but let his cheeks burn red.

“I didn't mean it. I thought you knew that,” Patrick whispers back, even if he kinda _did_ mean it. He didn't want to die, but he did want to maybe not exist for a while.

“I don't really know what's going on in your head half the time,” Gabe admits quietly. “I usually just go with it, you know? Like you do with me.”

“I thought I'd got better at communicating,” Patrick laughs even though he's not finding anything funny. “I don't know. I feel like I don't have any direction right now. The only phrase I can say right now is I don't know.”

“I don't know either,” Gabe says back. He takes pause for a moment, and Patrick listens to him breathe softly down the line. “Let me breathe my hometown for a couple of days, and then I'll be back, I promise.”

“I don't want to force you.”

“You're not fucking forcing, Patrick, now stop being a whiny bitch and tell me you love me so I can hang up happily.” Gabe's voice snaps from exhausted to peppy and neither of them seem correct, but Patrick hums softly.

“Okay, I love you. Don't get into too much trouble and please don't get arrested,” Patrick says, smiling when he hears a genuine laugh fly down the phone.

“Don't ask too much of me, but I love you too and I'll speak to you later.” Gabe hangs up and Patrick stares down at the heated phone for a few quiet seconds before handing it back to Pete.

“I'm gonna pretend that wasn't awkward,” Pete says, tossing his phone to the coffee table. There's a pause where Patrick knows he's going to ask, it comes three seconds later. “Did you really threaten to kill yourself after the band split?”

“It wasn't like that. I was-- I felt awful. I didn't want to die, but we were fighting about you and I just wanted to, like, let him know that I needed help without having to say it.” Patrick winces at himself and the way Pete clucks his tongue. It sucks to be looked down upon by his best friend; it doesn't happen this way around too often. “I was so upset but he just kept running after you and I flipped and said the wrong thing.”

“We both did shitty things back then,” Pete admits. He holds his hand out and Patrick takes it in a slow handshake, Pete's fingers pressing down to the back of Patrick's hand. “We'll be different now, alright?”

“I hope so,” Patrick says. He still feels a little down, but he's hopeful for something now.

When Gabe does return the whole fall out hardly gets spoken about. Patrick tries to improve his mood and Gabe's time back in New Jersey has done a number on his mood. Patrick knows how he feels every time he gets to go back to Chicago for a while, so he should've realized that Gabe's feelings were more about going home than Patrick.

Patrick's glad Gabe's alright again, he's taking time out, and he spends a lot of time outside. He attempts to do something with the backyard, but mostly he sits in the hot tub reading, fucking Patrick when Patrick whines about not seeing him enough. They even have Gabe's nephews over for a week and he spends the entire time as _uncle Patrick_ , stopping the house from exploding when Gabe and the kids start experimenting in the kitchen. Patrick wants kids in the next five years and he thinks it's good experience, makes him want it even more.

 

Pete phones Patrick up one afternoon, telling him that he's sent a cab and Patrick has to come over. Patrick hasn't got anything else to do, Gabe is at the gym and Patrick's ignoring important emails from his accountant.

When he gets to Pete's, there's no one else around. Patrick's met Meagan a few times now and she's nice. She's tall, but Patrick's used to that, and she seems like a good fit for Pete; she balances him in ways his other partners haven't.

“I was bored,” Pete explains, he grabs a bottle of something from beneath his counter, waving it in Patrick's face. “MJ bought this absinthe back from somewhere. I think she's saving it for a special occasion, but fuck that. We deserve it more.”

"Is she even old enough to drink?" Patrick asks, pushing his glasses up his nose and grabbing the bottle around the neck. Pete snorts indignantly at the assumption, snatching the bottle back.

"She's twenty three, asshole. Older than you were when you hooked up with Gabe.” Pete puts the bottle between the two glasses. “And I'm way more mature now than he's ever been.”

“Fair enough, but you don't have to compare us.” Patrick stares at the bottle some more, frowning when he sees Pete untwisting the cap. “Shouldn't we mix this with sugar and water? Isn't that how you're supposed to do it?” Patrick's a fairly decent drinker and he lives with Gabe and his steel liver, but he's always stayed away from this shit. He knows what he likes and he sticks to that.

“Kinda wanna try it neat.” Pete takes the bottle back, pouring the green liquid into the glasses. They throw them back at the same time, Patrick's swallowing the bitter burn down as Pete's smacking his hand on the table, face screwed up tight.

“Tastes like the worse kind of mouthwash,” Patrick says when he's recovered. “Maybe cut it with some coke.” Pete does as he's told, and Patrick stares at the mixed drink. It goes down a little better this time, though it's still pretty potent.

Patrick doesn't know what they end up talking about the rest of the afternoon, only that the room spins and Pete's laughing into Patrick's side as they fall onto the living room floor.

“No no.” Pete's finger is wagging in the air, the two of them flat on their backs staring up at the ceiling. Pete's rug irritates the back of Patrick's neck, but he's too engrossed in what Pete's saying to care. “No, I was happy for you. I listened to Soul Punk and I fucking cried, man. You were singing, your hips were all wiggly when I caught a show. You looked happy and I was jealous because I didn't have any part in it.”

“Oh, well I wasn't successful, so there's that.” It hurts, even through the sheer amount of alcohol in his system right now. Patrick's trying to find a way to live with it, but he's still not over it just yet. “You know what? I could have lived with the crashing and burning in the charts, the blowing through all my fucking money, but the _letters_ , Pete. People went to the trouble to find out where I live just to tell me what a fucking terrible person I am. That's what hurt the most.”

“I get, like, two of those a week,” Pete laughs. “You don't deserve that and you should totally give me the return addresses. I'll mail them shit-- mail them dog shit,” Pete slurs, rolling on his side. Patrick stares up at the ceiling, feeling light-headed, like he wants to cry.

“Either you or the absinthe is making me want to breakdown and that never happens when I'm fucking drunk,” Patrick says back, shutting his eyes to the spinning ceiling. “What've you done to me? Ugh. Think happy thoughts, Patrick.”

“Think happy thoughts, Patrick,” Pete repeats. “Maybe think about how fucking pissed Meagan will be when she realizes we've made a dent in her booze. You won't be allowed back for, like, a month. I won't get sex for a _week_.”

Patrick scrunches his nose up. “Too much, Wentz.”

“What why?” Pete pokes Patrick in the cheek, “But you know what I wanna know, I wanna know how the fuck you guys do it doggy style. I fucking know Gabe's into that shit.”

“The fact you're even asking me that is weird, it's terrifying,” Patrick says, but Pete's still poking him until Patrick bats his hand away. “He has to stand up and I have to kneel on the bed, that's how it works.”

“Oh dude!” Pete rolls flat on his back, flat out cackling. Patrick sits up and the walls lean in so he falls back onto his back again as Pete recovers. “You're awesome Patrick. I fucking love you, dude.”

“Don't laugh at my sex life,” Patrick says. “Now I'm not so heavy I feel better about letting him get all physical with me. We even have wall sex. You can't do that. There's perks to awkward heights.”

“Meagan's taller than me, but we don't really have any problems like that,” Pete says seriously. “Don't think I could deal with altering my sex life to fit someone else.”

“That's 'cause you're selfish.” Patrick turns onto his stomach, even though he's feeling pretty queasy now. Pete rolls over to face Patrick, so that both their cheeks are pressing into the fluffy rug as they stare at each other. “I'm kind of a bitch, but I think Gabe likes that.”

“Everyone likes that about you,” Pete says, pressing fingers to Patrick's forehead. Patrick leans into it, so their noses are almost touching, until he can feel Pete's breath on his face. “I missed you being a bitch to me.”

“Gabe says that when the band broke up it was like we broke up. I think that's true. I'm past drunk right now, but I wanna be honest. Even though I didn't want to fuck you and I didn't want to have kids with you I was still jealous about you and Ashlee having Bronx.”

“Yeah.” Pete drops his hand from Patrick's face, though his breathing is still soft and warm against Patrick's cheek. “I was upset when you got with Gabe because it meant you weren't just mine anymore.”

“I didn't want you, but I didn't want anyone else to have you,” Patrick says again. “'M'not hiding it because I know it's the same for you.”

“We broke up,” Pete says and Patrick nods his head, folding their fingers together between them. “You wanna get back together?” What Patrick wants is to get the band back together so he doesn't feel like such a sorry mess all the time, but he's too drunk to put that into words, and even if he could, he knows now isn't the time.

“Let's get fucking platonically married or some shit,” Patrick says. It makes zero sense to him, but Pete feels it; Pete gets it and he's pulling Patrick closer to seal the deal. Patrick laughs into Pete's neck, squirming when his hands get a little too close to creepy. It's good having his best friend back.

Patrick stumbles from the cab to his front door, key scraping in the lock until he can finally push the heavy door open. He does a twirl as he slams the door, losing his bearings and slamming into the wall as he does so, laughing loudly at his clumsiness, too loud for one-thirty in the morning.

He pushes a hand through his hair as he makes a slow stumble-walk through the house until he finds Gabe reading in a big chair in the living room. Patrick throws his arms up in the air, smiling bright at Gabe, who drops his book down and gives an amused grin back.

“Someone is mega-wasted,” Gabe says, watching Patrick bounce over to him. “Coffee table!” he shouts, knowing Patrick's tendency to crash into everything in his path when drunk. Patrick stops himself in time, sidestepping the furniture before falling onto Gabe's lap, wet puckered lips kissing his cheek.

“Pete and I got back together tonight, _Gaaabriel_. It makes me very happy,” Patrick laughs against Gabe's warm body. He bounces in his lap, hands curling over Gabe's face as he kisses him. “Not as happy as you though, apparently.” Patrick shifts on Gabe's lap, pressing down against his semi. “Papi wanna get fucked, huh?”

“Like you could keep a hard-on, right now,” Gabe says, “five years ago I'd have taken you up on that offer, but you're drunk and I'm sober so I'm gonna take a raincheck, and you're gonna tell me about your night before you fall asleep.”

Patrick shrugs, twisting so that he's got his knees over the arm of the chair, tucked lengthways over Gabe's lap. He rests his cheek against Gabe's chest, blowing the mess of blond hair out of his eyes. “I think Pete and I are gonna make sweet sweet friendship love together. I wanna get Fall Out Boy back together too, but I was too scared to tell him. I think he'd be down for it too, though.”

“There's two other people you need to talk to before you think about that,” Gabe says with a slight warning. Patrick rolls his eyes, even though he doesn't understand what at. He just rubs his cheek against Gabe's chest, sleep suddenly hitting him.

“Take me to bed like a princess,” he says, throwing his arms up. He laughs at himself, letting out a loud sigh when Gabe's lips press against his temple.

“I don't know what you and Pete were drinking, but I like it.” Gabe stands up, Patrick flopped in his arms bridal style. Patrick presses a finger into Gabe's chest, shutting his eyes when the swaying makes him feel dizzy.

“Don't call me princess when I'm sober. It's a drunk thing.” Gabe brings Patrick closer, rolling him higher as he makes it to the stairs. Patrick loses his train of thought, just continues to keep his eyes closed to the movements.

"Yeah, yeah. Enjoy your hanging in the morning, princess." Patrick groans when Gabe drops him to the bed, rolling over onto his face and falling straight to sleep.

 

It's slow progress over the next few months, but it's fucking fun. Patrick has his best friend back in his life but it's not like before. It feels better because Pete's in a pretty good place and Patrick feels like an adult these days. Gabe and Patrick have Pete, Meagan and Bronx over for Sunday afternoons, and Patrick makes his infamous banoffee pie when they eat. He feels awful for missing out on Pete's kid, but he hopes he can make up for it.

When Gabe and Pete go on what they call a _spa day_ Patrick hangs out with Bronx, takes him to the toy store and they spend the day building a Lego castle. Patrick sees a lot of Pete in his son, through the blond curly hair and light skin, but there's a sweet side that's different. Maybe it's just because he's a kid, something that they all have, but it makes Patrick smile all the way down to his chest.

“If the band doesn't get back together let's adopt a ton of kids,” Patrick says to Gabe over dinner. They're outside, looking over the hills. Patrick has one foot hooked between Gabe's legs, a hand on his wrist. “I hope they're all like Bronx.”

Gabe laughs, tapping his finger against Patrick's wrist. “I don't know if I want kids so you might wanna think about talking to Joe and Andy.”

"How can you not want kids?" Patrick asks, and then shakes his head. He doesn't need to argue about shit like that. Maybe when Gabe hits closer to forty he'll bring it up again. “Anyway, I still talk to the guys. Andy will be down for it, I think. Not sure about Joe.”

Patrick talks seriously with Pete the next time he comes over. Patrick wants the band back, even when he was the one that called it quits. He's been writing with Pete though, bad stuff and not so bad stuff. Patrick hasn't even let Gabe hear the demos, they're between Patrick and Pete and he wants them to stay that way.

“If we got the band back, it'd have to be different, Patrick. Not anything like before, no one wants to go through that again,” Pete says, twisting his head to stare up at Patrick.

“I don't want it to be like before. I'm not the same as before and you're not either. Plus I don't wanna do that shit, that emo crap. I don't know.... I want us to not sound like Fall Out Boy I want it to be us four and the same, but different too. I don't know how.” Patrick stops talking when he sees the way Pete's staring at him in alarm. “Insomnia has me thinking.”

“Sounds like it,” Pete laughs, rubbing Patrick's shoulder. “I can talk to Andy about it, but you need to speak to Joe. He's going to be the one that'll need persuading, you're better at handling him than me. You got patience.”

“The thought of this is the only thing that excites me these days,” Patrick confesses, smiling awkwardly when he realises how sad that sounds. Pete taps Patrick's knee with the palm of his hand as Patrick knocks his head against Pete's shoulder. “I dunno. I just feel like it could be something good if we all agree.”

“I'm in if they are, if not we just call it quits.” Pete's smile is gentle, but soothing too. “We can do our shit, but not Fall Out Boy. We'll still be together.”

“I guess I've got my producing to fall back on,” Patrick says. He picks his head up from his friend's shoulder to look at him properly. “Doesn't it feel good though, thinking about it?”

“ _Yes, Patrick_ ,” Pete teases, his hand on Patrick's thigh. It feels good, and Patrick nudges his head against Pete's shoulder once more, feeling Pete's stubbled chin against his forehead as he kisses Patrick there. “You're happy and that makes me happy, dude. Happier than before. Just-- we'll go with whatever happen, alright?”

“Yeah,” Patrick nods. “Fine.”

It takes a lot to get Joe to agree to even thinking about it. Patrick's on the phone with him for three hours and it's a bumpy ride, but it's a million times better than letting Pete deal with this. Patrick's throat is dry from talking, but there's a light at the end of the tunnel, and Joe's agreed to meet up to talk some more.

“It 100% isn't going to be like before. Pete's not the guy he was and I'm... I'm not the little bitch I used to be.” Patrick thinks the break was probably a good things in terms of his own personality. He gets away with being referenced as the cute one a lot, but honestly, he could be the most petulant dick in the room at times.

“You're being hard on yourself, buddy,” Joe laughs, but Patrick disagrees.

“I bottled shit up before, but I'm not like that anymore. I think we've all been through stuff in the last few years that's made us grow up, but I wanna do this. I want us to be the dudes we are now, but in the band we were back then.” Patrick leans forward in his chair, hovering over where his cell is resting on the desk in front of him.

“Alright, Patrick. I do have some stuff I've been working on. I could send it over, see what you think,” Joe says finally. He doesn't sound like he's only doing this for Patrick's benefit.

“Yes!” Patrick squeaks, knocking his cold tea over when he slams his hands on the table. He pushes his phone out of harm's way, hearing Joe laugh through the loudspeaker. “I have some stuff too, Joe. Good stuff, I mean, I think. I can-- okay I'm getting into a super messy pickle, so I'll send you the stuff.” Patrick hangs up when Joe laughs, grabbing paper towels before the tea attacks any expensive equipment.

Patrick is still a bitch in the studio that's never going to change, but writing the record like this, super secret and on their terms is something exciting for them all. There's a sense of freedom and Patrick works more with Joe than he ever has. Andy still does his thing, letting Patrick take the reins when he's not into it, but making the songs tighter with his beats when he wants to.

Everyone's over at Pete's house the night before they announce they're back. Patrick's had nerves buzzing in his blood for the past few weeks now, but it's been amped up and he knows he's not getting any sleep tonight.

“You look like you're about to fall into hysterics,” Gabe says to Patrick, tapping him on his cheek and laughing. He's making the most of the heavy vodka supply and Patrick knows he can't depend on him for decent moral support for the rest for the night.

“I can't believe you're wasted already,” Patrick tells him. He plucks Gabe's cup from his hand, downing a sip and then spitting it back out in disgust. “You drink like a fucking college student. So much for supporting me through this.”

Patrick wanders off, leaving Gabe to get into whatever trouble he likes. He's buzzing for something, knows if he drinks any more he'll be puking it all over Pete's nice house, and they've only just solidified their relationship again. Eventually he finds Andy, probably on his way to somewhere far more interesting than Patrick, but all the same.

“Andy! Stop me from freaking out,” Patrick says, throwing his arms over Andy's shoulder and launching himself at his solid body. Andy laughs soft in Patrick's ear, touching him close.

“Nerves getting the better of you?” It's obvious, it's always obvious with Patrick, so he nods his head, smiling sheepishly when Andy's sweet blue eyes shine at him.

“We know it's a good album, fuck anyone that doesn't think so. Even if it crashes, there's been good that's come out of it.” Patrick doesn't know why he doesn't go to Andy more for advice, he's always got the best things to say and already Patrick nods his head, tapping his chest to try and distract his anxious heart.

Instead, he says, “you know, I had the biggest crush on you when I was seventeen.”

“I know,” Andy smiles and crows feet pop up beside his eyes, Patrick kind of still gets that squishy feeling over Andy, so he just sighs dreamily. He had good taste, even as a teenager. “Pete warned me not to make things worse so I stayed away. Not that I ever would have touched you in the first place.”

“Son of a bitch,” Patrick says, wondering how many other times in his youth that Pete cockblocked him. “Maybe I have a thing for vegans. Can I trade you for Gabe?” Patrick pulls Andy's arm over his shoulder, knows he's being kinda childish but not caring. Andy plays a long for what it's worth, their cheeks pressed together.

“It's already pretty incestuous with the whole 'PeteandPatrick' thing, I don't wanna add to it,” Andy laughs. “Where is Gabe?”

“Refuelling the vodka in his blood. No doubt humping someone somewhere, probably Pete,” Patrick shrugs, holding Andy tight suddenly, so that he's clasping his own fingers together over his waist. “Oh man, I can't shift the nerves.”

“Me either.” Andy rubs Patrick's hands, wriggling from his grasp. “Come on, we'll find somewhere quiet outside to freak out together.” Patrick lets Andy lead the way, politely smiling at everyone that stops him for a celebratory back pat or hair ruffle. They end up the other side of the pool, tucked behind a leafy potted plant.

“This might lead to big things. I think that scares me more than the other shit. I can deal with flopping, I've done that a lot recently.” Patrick looks at Andy, who's staring intently down at his feet. He's nodding his head in understanding though. “I don't want to let you guys down.”

“You're not letting anyone down, Patrick. I know confidence isn't your strongest suit, but it's on the four of us to make this work.” Andy rubs Patrick's back, his hand running in smooth circles.

“But what if it gets like it did before?” Patrick catches his eye, wonders if he's pushing it too far. Patrick usually saves his neurotic whining for Gabe or Pete.

Andy just laughs though, “Patrick, we've had this conversation a billion times over the last few months. That isn't going to happen, so calm down. Let's just enjoy the fact that we've got a second chance at this now.”

“I feel like a person now,” Patrick says. “I always felt a little bit like a cartoon character, a bit-part even when that wasn't the case. I don't know, I kinda wanna do this and have people see me now as an adult, as someone that feels in control of their life. Is that weird? Does that make sense?”

“We're all scared, Patrick, but just take a breath. Be you and be happy, and we'll figure everything else out.” Andy's hand is warm and solid when it squeezes Patrick shoulder and Patrick leans into him for a moment. He's about to say something else when there's a loud holler and a solid splash as someone hits the surface of Pete's pool. Andy coughs and hums, peering through the plant's leafs before turning. “Patrick, your boyfriend just belly-flopped the pool with all his clothes on. You might wanna sort it out.”

“Goddammit,” Patrick says, pulling away from Andy's touch. He stands up, looking down at Andy with a nervous smile. “I can't wait until we get on the road again. Playing rhythm against your beat.” Patrick taps his chest, because drummer to drummer, Andy gets it better than anyone else. Andy taps his own chest before waving Patrick off, the sound of Gabe's waterlogged singing ruining his moment.

Gabe stays away during the launch process, he's there for the first show, like he was for Patrick's solo stuff, but he's cutting the apron ties a bit, pushing Patrick out on his own to deal with things again.

Things are _so_ different now though. Not just in the band, but in the entire scene. Not that they're in the scene, but still. Patrick thinks they're successful. He wouldn't mind going a few interviews without them mentioning his weight loss, which was so long ago now, but the reviews are positive. The new fans are so young and Patrick has his first taste of feeling old when he meets them, but he sees familiar old faces too, and that's nice. It makes the past four years seem worth it.

“Delivery for P. Stumph,” someone calls. Patrick walks over from where he's crouched in the corner, talking to his tech. The courier's carrying a large food box and Patrick's already grimacing when Pete plucks the card from the rows of tiny banoffee pie flavored ice creams.

_"'Papi misses your pie right now. Does this taste as good? Play hard and I'll see you soon.'_ Oh that's cute,” Pete says, winking at Patrick, who feels hot waves of love for Gabe right there. He presses one of the ice creams to his cheek to cool himself down as Pete leans over, hand on Patrick's shoulder. “No homemade caramel though.”

“You call him papi? That is way too much information?” Joe says, interrupting as he plucks a tub from the box. “I'm ignoring the rest of that comment because it grosses me out, but thank you for fucking a guy that hands out ice cream like this.”

“I don't call him papi,” Patrick lies, “he calls himself it.” He peels the cardboard lid off the ice cream, glad that they've already performed now and can enjoy it. “And it's not a sex thing. It's really sweet. ”

Joe snorts, like he doesn't believe Patrick, but then he's ambling off to talk to someone in another room. “It's not as good as my pie,” Patrick tells Pete when he's finished his ice cream, licking the tiny pink spoon clean.

“I'd never comment on such a thing!” Pete falls down beside Patrick, head on his shoulder, fingers on Patrick's knee. “I've never dated anyone that bought ice cream for the entire crew before. Guess that makes Gabe a keeper.”

“I think it does.” Patrick smiles at Pete, glad to be back like this together, even if he is missing his dude.

 

Patrick's so excited to get home, to get home to Gabe and pass out for a few days. Patrick remembers the time when he had no jobs coming in, when he sulked around his house watching bad TV and hating himself. He almost longs for those days, just so he can stay at home longer. 

Patrick's by no means a morning person, something he has to force himself to be when they're interviewing or performing, but they've got some time to spare before the summer tour. Gabe's got Midtown's reunion coming up but he's home for the time being. In all honesty they spend most of their downtime bed; fucking, sleeping, just enjoying themselves.

“I think we should move house,” Patrick says, wondering whether he should even bother getting dressed today, he's worn nothing but his boxers and whatever t-shirt of Gabe's is closest all week. Gabe's in pajama pants, so low on his hips they seem pointless, demolishing the plate of mango resting between them on the bed. “I bought this place when I was twenty-one. We should get somewhere nicer.”

“Somewhere in New Jersey?” Yellow mush seeps out from Gabe's mouth as he chews his fruit, his eyebrows raised in mock-hope.

“No, because you wouldn't move to Chicago if I asked. LA is middle ground.” Patrick tries to snag a piece of the fruit before Gabe finishes the lot. “I'll let you be in charge of decorating.”

“Of fucking course. You have shitty taste,” Gabe says, but then he's narrowing his eyes. “You've got a plan, Stump. I don't know if I like it.”

“No plan. I just feel like a change, like something new,” Patrick laughs, jumping over the food between them until he's sitting on Gabe's stomach. He runs his hands over Gabe's shoulders, down his chest. “Plus a bigger house means the kids can stay over more often and your dad can be here and I won't have to listen to him bitch about me in Spanish.”

“He's just expressive. He likes you.” Gabe's eyes are starting to droop with sleep and Patrick strokes his cheek with his thumb, Patrick is way too into him, nearly seven years later. “We're running out of room for all your tech, too.”

“ _Exactly!_ I'm thirty now and I kinda wanna move to the next stage with you. I dunno know what that means because I never know anything, but a new house seems like a good idea.” Patrick shuffles backwards until he can fall down to the other side of Gabe and curl up against him. “Think of all the new places we can fuck.”

“Well, _now_ I'm sold,” Gabe's laughing sleepily. They've only been awake a couple of hours, but Patrick's pretty ready to sink back into a warm lazy nap. Patrick feels like he's only just drifted off to sleep when he wakes up with a jolt. Gabe's up and flinging his arms around at the bottom of their bed. His nap's clearly been over for a while.

“What the fuck?” Patrick rubs his eyes, rolling onto his back. Gabe's waving his tablet around, crowing about something. Patrick rubs his cheek against his pillow, staring and waiting on an answer.

“Clearly when God made me he was like 'I'm gonna put the next wonder of the world in the arms of a Midwestern twink. I'm gonna make him sexy, Latino and Jewish.'” Patrick still doesn't understand, even more so considering Gabe's all but an atheist. He sits up and Gabe falls down next to him, dropping his tablet into Patrick's lap. “That photoshoot I did is in. Look at how fucking sexy I am. I should'a been a goddamn model.”

“Looking good, baby.” Patrick flicks through the photos. Gabe's always been hot, but now he's shed the neon layer he's even better. Sometimes Patrick remembers Gabe feels the same about him and he wants to laugh for days.“Are those salmon colored chinos? Why don't you dress like that for me?” Patrick points to the photo of Gabe casually bending over a coffee bar in light pants and a white polo.

“I'll dress however you want, baby boy.” Gabe's pose turns lascivious as he rolls himself onto Patrick, pressing the tips of their noses together before lifting up. “Normally when I say I wanna fuck the prettiest thing in the room I'm talking about you, but right now I just wanna fuck myself.”

“Have you taken something or are you really this horny over your own photos?” Patrick's not sure whether to laugh or not, this is like _old_ Gabe, the wackier version he rolled out on stage most nights.

“Just preening,” Gabe admits, hands rising up the back of Patrick's tee-shirt, fingers pressing against muscle, against soft skin. Patrick sighs, wondering what he's going to have to do to calm him down. He's hoping he can just lay here and let Gabe do what he wants until he passes out.

 

Patrick's playing candy crush on his phone, sitting in Gabe's lap in the green room backstage. Touring with Paramore has been fun, but tonight's been even better because Gabe turned up, right when Patrick was starting to miss him to the point of pissiness. Patrick's not a baby anymore, not in the ways he was, but – _actually_ , he pretty much is. If anything he's more vocal about it now, but at least he's communicating properly, enough so that Gabe knows when to turn up and calm him down again.

Pete's chatting Gabe's ear off about Bronx, showing the most recent photos that Ashlee has sent him and gushing about Meagan pregnant and ready to drop any moment. Patrick ignores their chatter, focusing on his game instead, one hand resting against Gabe's knuckles, his hand warm on Patrick's belly.

Patrick's missed Gabe like crazy. He's never had as much fun with his band, not in all the years before when they were arguably more popular, but the tone is different now and he misses having his boyfriend's band along for the ride. It's stupid really, considering how miserable Patrick was at times, but still, at least Gabe was there. He puts it down to not always getting everything he wants at once, but on the loneliest of days it sucks more than anything.

Pete's phone goes not long after, telling them to get on the bus before it leaves without them. Patrick doesn't want to get up, restarts his game as Pete leaves the room, Gabe's mouth pressing soft kisses to the back of Patrick's neck.  
“Baby, you don't wanna make everyone late.”

“Come for the next stop,” Patrick says quietly, admitting defeat and clicking his phone off. He leans back into Gabe's chest, head rolled back onto his shoulder. Gabe squeezes him tighter around the middle, lips resting soft against Patrick's throat. “I'll share my bunk with you.”

“That's tempting, but I got my own shit to do, and this tour is supposed to be about the four of you, not your attention-seeking boyfriend,” Gabe says, squeezing Patrick's middle. He rocks forward suddenly, shifting Patrick up onto his feet. “I'll carry you to the bus if I have to.”

“I can walk just fine.” Patrick grabs his hat from the arm of the chair as he takes Gabe's hand and leads him out of the room. He's used to it now, one of them leaving when the other one isn't ready, but it's always going to suck. Patrick's gotten so needy lately too, ever since he hit thirty. He wants a new house and he wants kids and he wants it alongside his band. Gabe still says he doesn't want kids, but Patrick's hoping he'll come around; Pete's agreed to help him get Gabe on board. 

“Be good, be awesome, be sexy,” Gabe says to Patrick, pressing him up against the door of the bus when they reach it. Patrick pulls him down for a kiss, feels hands grapple at his ass for a second and he wishes suddenly it was a hotel night, so that Gabe could fuck him through the mattress for a few hours. Patrick could go for that right now. He palms his fingers against Gabe's crotch for a moment.

“I'm not so shy anymore. I'd probably let you fuck me against this bus if we had more time,” Patrick says, resting his hand beneath Gabe's shirt for a moment, against taut skin and coarse hair.

“I'll see you in a few weeks, alright? Be good.” Gabe laughs is dry like he secretly wants to stay longer too. Patrick goes to protest further when Gabe leans down to kiss Patrick's forehead before shoving hands under Patrick's arms and pushing him up onto the bus steps. He smacks the side of the bus before falling back, adjusting his pants and composure. Patrick doesn't know whether he wants to flip the finger at him or blow a kiss. He goes for waving at him as the bus revs before he turns and steps properly onto the bus.

The front lounge is empty and quiet as Patrick drops his hat onto the couch, but there's talking from the back lounge and Patrick figures he may as well join in on the action. He makes his way through the bus, almost past the bunks before a hand reaches out and grabs him around the waist.

“What the fuck, Pete? ” Patrick says, drawing the curtain open to see Pete's shit-eating grin peering up at him. Pete shifts over, back to the far panel of the wall and Patrick figures he hasn't got anything better to do as he hops in.

“I'm sorry,” Pete says as Patrick's wiggling around trying to find space. They're nose to nose eventually, Pete's arm beneath Patrick's head, fingers to his neck and Patrick's own resting on Pete's side.

“This is pretty homoerotic even by our standards,” Patrick realizes out loud, but Pete just shrugs from where he's wedged tight between Patrick and the wall.

“Don't interrupt my apology,” Pete says, pushing his neck up slightly to kiss Patrick's forehead. Patrick frowns at him, rubbing Pete's hip in confusion, waiting on what he's done this time. “I'm sorry about all the things I said to hurt you way back when. The things I said about Gabe. I didn't mean it.”

“I know,” Patrick nods as best as he can, going for words instead. “That's okay, I wasn't much nicer to you. Plus, you have a really shitty tattoo of him on your leg, that more than makes up for it.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn't have played into your insecurities like that and I'm sorry.” Pete's words are genuine and Patrick doesn't need an apology. Pete's more than cleaned his act up and that's cool, that's more than enough.

“I forgive you, man. You know that. I lost my virginity to him, did I ever tell you that? The whole of the Honda Civic Tour I never let him go all the way and he respected that. I think I trusted him after that, about everything really.” Patrick thinks back, laughing slightly, because he was so clueless to his own thoughts, to what he was doing back then. He's a little more self aware these days, doesn't hold himself back.

“ _Really?_ I did not defend your virtue countless times just so you could lose it to Saporta.” Pete's smirking, tapping his fingers against Patrick's neck. He doesn't bother with a response, not when Pete knows Patrick's knee is so close to his testicles. “It’s pretty wild that you’ve gone your entire life with nothing but Gabe’s dick.”

“I was with Anna first, but who’s to say Gabe’s the only guy I've slept with? We had a threesome once, I don’t remember it, but it was good. I mean, I think it was.” Patrick’s burning red to his chest, it’s something the three promised to keep between themselves. It was a couple of years ago now, but Gabe’s still a little funny about it. “Don’t tell Gabe I told you.”

“Oh my God, you can’t say that and not tell me,” Pete hisses. “Who? Do I know them?”

“Of course you fucking know them, but it was weird after. Not for me, but I don't think Gabe likes that he isn't one that's had me that way." Patrick watches Pete process the entire conversation, his nose scrunching before his eyes suddenly widen. He's got it. 

"You dirty slut. I'm gonna rib him so hard when I see him next," Pete smirks, tugging on Patrick's hair until he's snuggling in closer. Patrick's only really used to cuddling with Gabe and he knows where he fits, even if their height is so much greater than with Pete. He tries to make or work, shimmying down further until he can rest his forehead against Pete's collarbone. Pete laughs, calls Patrick something offensive again as he strokes the back of Patrick's neck. It's not Gabe, but it's comforting. It's _Pete_ , nothing is as familiar as that.

“Pete, I'm tired and I'm sad and can we just, like, cuddle and not make this awkward.” Patrick shifts again, freezing when Pete's hand touches his ass lightly. Pete moves it right away, laughing dirty in Patrick's ear.

“We're in our thirties and we're cuddling in a bunk. There's always going to be something awkward in that,” Pete points out, but Patrick just rubs his forehead against Pete's chest, smelling sweat and weed and all the other things that make up Pete. It's gross, but Patrick remembers it from when he was so young and it's pretty comforting.

“Let's just sleep. You're not Gabe, but you're the next best thing.” Patrick rubs Pete's back for a moment before going loose. He's too old to be falling asleep in his best friend's bunk, but he's too tired to move.

Pete laughs, Patrick smiles against the rumble in his chest. “Go to sleep, Patrick. We'll do it all again tomorrow.”


End file.
